The Stupid Jerk I'm Obsessed With

This is one of my favorite poems. By Maggie Estep

THE STUPID JERK I'M OBSESSED WITH
stands so close
I can feel his breath on my neck
and smell the way he would smell
if we slept together
because he is THE STUPID JERK I'M OBSESSED WITH
and that is his primary function in life
to be A STUPID JERK I CAN OBSESS OVER
and to talk to that dingy bimbette blonde
as if he really wanted to hear about her
manicures and pedicare and New Age Ritualistic Enema Cures
and, truth be told, he probably does want to hear about it
because he is
THE STUPID JERK I'M OBSESSED WITH
and he does anything he can to lend fuel to my fire
he makes a point
of standing, looking over my shoulder
when I'm talking to the guy who adores me
and would bark like a dog and wave to strangers
if I asked him to bark like a dog and wave to strangers
but I can't ask the guy to bark like a dog or impersonate
any kind of small animal at all
cause I'm too busy
looking at the way
THE STUPID JERK I'M OBSESSED WITH
has pants on
that perfectly define his well-shaped ass
to the point where I'm throughly frantic,
I'm just gonna go home
stick my head in the oven
overdose on nutmeg and aspirin or sit in the bathtub
reading The Executioner's Song
and being completely confounded by the fact that I can see
THE STUPID JERK I'M OBSESSED WITH'S face
defining itself in the peeling plaster of the wall
grinning
and winking
and I start yelling: "Hey, get the hell out of there, you are just a figment of
my overripe imagination, get a life and get out of my plaster and pass me
the next painful situation please."

But he just keeps on
grinning
and winking
he's THE STUPID JERK I'M OBSESSED WITH
and he's mine
in my plaster
and frankly,
I COULDN'T BE HAPPIER.