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 Shannon McKeehen
 Shannon McKeehen
by Shannon McKeehen  FollowFollow
Boring stuff: I've been writing poetry since I was nine, and the first poem I had published was called "My Lovely Teddy Bear." It was in more local town paper, and my parents cut it out and put it on our fridge, where it weathered in yellow, embarrassing glory for many years. Fast forward: I now have an MFA in creative writing from Mills College, located in the cool-as-hell San Francisco Bay Area. I miss it and its badassery. I now work at the University of Toledo, tutoring graduate students. Oh, and less boring: I love Batman. And pizza. And wetnaps. LOVE those.
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Plato hates me: all cold
toes and symbolism.
Banished, my next meal
comes from a can, cold beans.
Fuck you, Plato.
That's what Aristotle said, anyway.
If I'm a writer, then I'm a deceiver,
a believer in puzzles and artifacts,
tangible weapons like irony,
giving weight to sugar and magic tricks.
But even Plato loved Homer.

Crisis averted, shoulders bare,
he encourages me, the dear poetess,
to wear a shawl. "Cover that shit up,"
he says. That's what Aristotle claims, anyway.
With a wink, I can starve romantically,
blink tears away. I rub the smudges off
this glass and fill it with warm water.
If I concentrate well enough,
the tea will steep without outside interference.
If this is the thanks I get, then
I can probably deal with that.



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