Honestly

People say they love my honesty, but honestly,

I’m a liar and a thief. I would steal your mother

and help you look for her. What was she wearing?

Large breasts or small? Truly, I have a prurient

bent. I sometimes incline toward pure prurience.

But at least I’m honest about it. I am up front

at the adult movie theater. I’m in the first row

where there’s nothing between me and these

fine actors, some of whom are really very fine—

I mean, they’re so convincing I believe they are

in love. I believe I am in love. I mean, that’s how

good they are. But me, I’m not a good person. I would

pocket your twenty if I found it on the floor of

your car. I would borrow your car without asking you.

I would steal your line and put it in my poem without

crediting you. I would sleep with your mother

if she were good-looking enough and willing. Honestly,

I am not an honest person, and this poem is not

an honest poem. It expresses feelings and beliefs that

I have never felt or entertained. It’s a sad day when

someone like you lets someone like me get away

with something like this. What were you thinking?