Belonging

Lounging in a studied mimicry of contemplation,
I peek at the “Do not touch” sign, which is in
Japanese, but the hand enclosed within that red
Circle and slash suffices. My father’s finger flirts

With the jade porcelain surface of a Joseon vase.
“Very strong,” he claims, thumping his chest with
Closed fist. His doctorate in Dad History qualifies
Him to lecture about artifacts that were made by

And belong to imagined ancestors. They must be
Important, because the security guard has not let
Up his soldierly gaze on us. My father does not
Notice, so I just nod, not getting the fuss of it all.

The Idiocy

This morning I woke up in my king-sized bed.
Feeling inexplicably content.
Over my bowl of Quaker oats, I prayed.
It’s hard to say exactly what the content
Of my half-assed appeal to God included.
My mind strayed towards urges that included

A dreamland where I don’t do anything
But drink Bud Lights and call in sick to work;
A fantasy in which I cheat on Beth
With Brooke, the new receptionist at work;
And one in which I set my house on fire
With me inside. I chose to put the fire

Of these temptations out before my oats
Got cold. Among the evil on this earth,
I vowed to write a card for Beth, tip more
Than ten percent at local bars, unearth
Old clothes to give away to my Goodwill:
Do good for goodness’ sake by my free will.

Workshop Comments

Your poem’s great. I swear it could
Be published. It betrays a sense
Of innocence. It really should
Be published, dude. You have intense
Levels of talent, bro. Commence
Its sending in like right away.
It’s so accessible yet dense.
I guess there’s not much else to say.

If I could change one thing, it would
Be the beginning. At the expense
Of clarity, you’ve made a good
Image, but something’s off with the tense.
Is that phrase you used — “from whence” —
A thing we’d go and say today?
Those spots are where I’m on the fence.
I guess there’s not much else to say.

But wait, where did the man in the hood
Come from? That didn’t make any sense
To me. Another thing that stood
Out badly was your use of “thence.”
This whole thing’s too archaic. Hence,
You should make those revisions, Ray.
I’m so confused. Like, no offense.
I guess there’s not much else to say.

Your poem blows. If you condense
It all, it might become OK.
For this, John Keats wouldn’t pay twopence.
I guess there’s not much else to say.

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David Baik is a senior at Johns Hopkins University majoring in the Writing Seminars.