If I Were King of the Poetry World

I would eat tapeworm and not get sick.
I would buy a Fendi bag.
I would pose naked for the cover of Vanity Fair with the words of one of my poems
covering my privates.
I would stay home and write more poetry.
I would be able to hold my head up high in my bathroom.
I would grocery shop while always checking over my shoulder for the paparazzi.
I would be invited to be on Oprah with the King of the Liposuction World.
I would go to a party with JF and pretend I did not know who he was.
I would sneeze and the 400,000 other poets in the world would say, “God bless you.”
I would be commissioned to write a new innovative edition of the Bible.
My dog would become a spokesperson for the anti-fur movement.
My children would be given backstage passes to the next U2 concert.
My husband would have to sit back and watch all the 200,000 male poets in the world
lust after me.
I would not sleep with any of them.
I would think about sleeping with some of them.
I would organize one large orgy for all poets and their willing spouses and significant
others.
I would pour champagne in my underwear.
I would stop speaking to everyone I knew before I became King.
I would speak to a therapist daily about power management issues.
I would run away from myself whenever I saw me coming.