“You open my shirt like a door you want to enter”

looking up
wide eyed
like cartoon
silence says
best behave.
but my hand
floats to yours
mind unmoved
teeth snag
and pull thread
wearing only
crooked smile
you unravel me

Forms

I stood in the
desert for
several years
conserving
water.
One day
I was
chopped up
and ingested.
My life
was turning
into shit.

Space Cadet

As I got off the shuttle
I fell in a puddle
of murky primordial ooze.
I stood up befuddled
my skin was all huddled
on the ground all around my shoes.

“HE LOOKS GOOD FOR A DEAD MAN,”

That’s what someone said at his Daddy’s funeral.
Every morning eggs and insulin.
Flashbulb memories,
Projections of past,
Stir a potion of the good ol’ days.
Today more than ever,
Newspaper separates us.
Article about WWII
Stories of coping,
Returning home no longer
Whole.
Tears rest on his hollow cheeks.
Sitting in his wheel chair
Eyes pierce ground outside window.
Growing impatient,
Waiting for his reward.

CUSTOMER SERVICE IS AT THE OTHER END OF THE BUILDING

I shift my weight
As the only customer service rep
Calls every store in the area
Looking for an inflatable pool the family ahead of me wants.
A suit walks behind the desk.
I try not to make eye contact,
My foul mood reeks.
He keeps glancing at me
And I keep looking away from the desk.
He walks out from behind the desk
Hesitates. Glances at me.
Walks behind the queue,
When I think the coast is clear
I turn and watch him go,
He’s looking at me again.
“She’ll be right with you.”
I nod.
He doesn’t know the procedure.
Probably hired in.
Shortly after, the queue fills.
Another employee comes to help.
Cash shifts from register
Back to consumer’s pockets.
Outside, it’s storming.
I inhale damp tobacco,
Turn key, wipers swoosh.
Orange light flashes low fuel.

Frakenbaby

“There may be ways, for instance, to design a baby’s genes without violating the principle of informed consent. This is the belief that no one’s genes—not even an embryo’s—should be altered without his or her permission,” (117).

In Sharon Begley’s article, “Designer Babies,” she informs the reader that in vitro fertilization, currently used for couples with fertility problems, will soon be used to create dream children. My mind wanders—hell, it sprints—to some sort of Frankenbaby. Or a baby as irresistible as John Travolta in the movie Michael. Mothers fighting off adult women in the grocery store, “He smells like my grandmothers cookies! Take my phone number! Call me when he’s sixteen.” As Begley explored the topic, I began to accept the reality of designing genetic code.

Imagine a family history free of Diabetes. You have my attention. Without the looming threat of diabetes your children are free to enjoy a life booze, diet coke and cigarettes. Dream child! Where do I sign?

In all seriousness, in a few years it may be possible to inject an artificial human gene carrying instructions to make certain cells self-destruct. Suppose a baby boy fetus with a family history of prostate cancer is injected with a designer gene. By the time his cancerous prostate cells start growing his designer gene will kick in and kick ass by causing the cells to commit suicide and he will not die of cancer (115). This is all very exciting. Man overcomes nature yet again. I knew we could do it. Never mind that we’ve created poisonous chemicals that contribute to the cancer epidemic. It would be much more boring to eradicate cancer by finding the root cause, especially if it challenges the current capitalistic globalization model. Yawn. So last year.

Believe it or not, there is opposition to these designer genes. “There is a great divide over whether we should be opening up this Pandora’s Box,” (116). However, the author says molecular biologists may have come up with a solution making the manipulation of a fetus less creepy and weird. For instance, injecting designer genes into unborn people violates the principle of informed consent. Very sane, UCLA geneticist, John Campbell gives this example: A gene for patience could be equipped with an on/off switch activated by taking drugs. (Taking drugs to alter one’s mood making them tolerable to be around— this sounds like something my uncle does. He calls it smoking pot.)  The child free to accept or reject the drug retains informed consent over her genetic code (117). I am glad some people in the science community are trying to protect the rights of the individual’s body, even a fetus. However I find it strange that the concern is only for genetic code of the unborn. Almost no one has a problem mutilating a newborn’s genitalia without his consent, or injecting our children with vaccines full of heavy metals.

Having a cynical temperament like mine, I am not interested in having the option to turn my virtue on and off with prescription drugs. If I want to be a bit nicer, I will have a glass of wine. As far as preventing hereditary diseases and disorders, I say we get our houses in order and stop causing disease before we start consciously altering our genetic makeup.

Everything will not be better

This is a series of reflection papers I must write for a general education class titled Science, Technology and Society. The weekly assignments are to read the assigned text and reflect, academically, but using "I", on one part of the reading.

Reflection: Week 3

“Everyone says that it’s what’s inside that counts, and that makes me feel good,” Alex says, “but if I was the tallest instead of the shortest, everything would just be better. People would sit with me at lunch, I’d have more friends, and people in my class wouldn’t make fun of me and call me Little Everett,” (108).

I don’t care that Alex and his family decided to use Humatrope, a lab brewed human growth hormone nearly identical to what is secreted by the pituitary gland. Yes, I have a guttural rejection to the notion of putting foreign chemicals into my body. It’s this sort of knee jerk reaction that incites a list of “They” concerns. Yes, take this drug, that’s what “they” want you to do. This is how “they” will turn us into super soldiers. “They” are brainwashing our youth! When I wade through those unchecked fears of science and government evil plots to destroy the world in which they too must live, I’m left thinking, “Not my choice. Don’t care.” If the family wants to spend their money on human growth hormones, I won’t stop them.

On the other hand, it’s just lazy parenting to let their nine year old son believe that everything will be better if he were a little bit taller. Apparently this family has not read the great work of literature, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. In this great American tale, the host gives his house guest the mouse, a cookie, as good hosts do. This leads to a string of requests the mouse feels he is entitled to and the host’s health and well-being suffer in an effort to accommodate his guest. If Alex in fact grows to an acceptable or normal height  he will find out that everything is not better. Even if he perceives everything as better he will have a hard time establishing a correlation between his acceptable height and his perceived happiness. Chances are if no one likes him while he’s short, this won’t change once he’s grown. When he comes to realize that everything is not better he will likely think of another thing he must change. AND THEN everything will be better. Unrealistic. Being ridiculed is part of being human. Plain and simple. I was called a boy and an ogre until high school. I still have body image issues, but those issues are my issues. I don’t have to feel that way. Don't get me wrong--it's hard to remember my weight and perceived masculinity are not connected to my self-image because the perception and objectification of women in our society. As a result I’ve developed a wicked sense of humor as a defense which has carried me through many hard times. It’s free so it doesn’t matter that my insurance doesn’t cover it.

It is my opinion that there are more pressing concerns than someone being short. I am not trying to trivialize young Alex's experience, but everything will not be better if he grows. We will still spray poisonous chemicals on our food, disturb entire ecosystems, bomb innocent civilians, rape, murder and enslave each other. What’s on the inside does not count for everything, but if it isn’t valued by the individual no physical change will make anything better. Many of us would not be alive if it weren’t for modern medical knowledge and technology. I’m thankful my mother and I both survived my birth. I don’t mind dealing with my short, stout, round body and the resulting cynical personality. C’est la vie.