The only thing you can’t undo is knowing.
At least, that’s what liars want you to think.
My hometown is where the fox and hare say goodnight—
i.e. the middle of nowhere.
Out with the old and in with the trash.
Gash on the wrist—and give it a twist.
VICES ONLY is the sign on the door of the afterlife.
THE DEVIL is curling his pointer finger.
Birth certificate—mine’s on papyrus.
The name has been lost in translation.
Hieroglyphics never sound right
In hooked-on-phonics French.
You can order your grave online now:
One-and-a-half bath with an inverted skylight.
Book of nonsense with the dynamite attached;
Torch your own work before the others can get to it.
Everything’s a nunchuck: first used to harvest rice,
But now a device for anything that has to do with the subconscious.
Coffin tied to a tree—I don’t think this poem is for me anymore.
MESSIEURS LES DÉMONS, laissez-moi donc!
Up to my throat in bombs, and in hindsight,
The padlock needed no keys, just a good smashing.
There’s no such thing as a relic without a miracle;
The object needs GOD’S touch with many witnesses.
MALLORY is poking this poem with a match.
The crowd is gawking at this miraculous combustion.
*
Mallory Hasty is a senior English Writing and Religious Studies double 
major at DePauw University. She is the Managing Editor of A Midwestern Review, DePauw’s undergraduate literary journal. After spending a semester at the University of Edinburgh, she wants to move back to Scotland as soon as possible
