Stephanie Brown is the author of Allegory of the Supermarket (University of Georgia Press, 1999) and a winner of a National Endowment for the Arts Poetry Fellowship in 2001. She works as a public librarian and lives in Southern California.  Of this piece she says, "The FU impulse is particularly effective when dealing with self-important gasbags and pricks of both sexes. Nothing beats the feeling of satisfaction gained by delivering the finger with a smile on one's face: hence, 'Invective.'"

 

 

 

 

 

Invective

 

The point is: F. You.

That's all it – (everything) – ever meant, ever.

That's all it's for.

It's a bummer how significant you grew

And how I so need to revenge you.

All I do and will do is a way to get back at you, to this I am dedicated.

 

I'd like to watch you really stew in your own shit,

when I pull off a complex psychological mind-f-er.

(Yeah, you can do it though it may take years.) 1

E.g., the point of my successful career as a _____________ is: F. You.

and the point of my unlined face is: F. You.

And the point of my sobriety is F. You.

And the point of my boob-job is F. You.

And the point of my twelve-year-old car and my million $ house is: F. You.

And the point of the beautiful new paramour?

So the old will say, "How could you!"

And the point of my unfailingly sincere smile is: F. You.

And the harsh little digs of a compliment are one-of-a-kind F. You.

Oh, indeed, without you, my life has no meaning.

Oh, indeed, I wish you

Envy and covetousness;

Let me be the teacher who teaches you about your pratfalls and weaknesses!

Because then you could "eat your heart out," 2

You could grimace and ache with regret, bile, and gas pains.

I'd rather that you cry – don't disappear or go very far away, my lovely dear –

Who, then, would incite the throb of your varicose veins?

 

Sorry, you're not my type. Honey, get some help.

Okay – you were right about that –

So you told me – so I did – get help –

Oh yeah, I understand now,

Come n get it – I get it all now –

It's all about: F. You.

You taught me that screw.

When the meek get their due,

They get a chance for: F. You.

And you were right – I was a loser, all right, and you, a hammer-on-anvil armstrong.

But don't gloat too much while you stand away your life on your

Rose Parade Float. 3

Don't forget to make eye-contact with your legions

Your lovers who loved your cruel maneuvers;

And still love you with unmentionable unreason.

Before you stumble,

and cookies crumble,

before you look into my eyes as I say,

"You'll never know how much you meant to me." 4

With a cold, new kind of smile.

 

 

 

 

Notes

 

1. (But it's worth it.)

2. This language is probably not fresh enough for you. Here: here's a head of lettuce for you.

3. Yeah, like this is really some obscure reference. Don't make trouble!

4. I will really be saying, "F. You." And thanks.

 

 

 

from American Poetry Review, May/June 2001