Mutant Renegade Zine

"Selected Poetry From Issue #8"

Select a poem
Kurt Irons (It's just a girl) Loggers Make People Think The One at Mardi Gras

Kurt Irons (itís just a girl)

Kurt Irons
while drinking
drove a stolen
into another
and killed
a woman

according to
Kurt Irons
by the arrest
by the fact
that he was

Kurt Irons
was quoted
as saying

itís just a

itís a girl -
but a

janet kuypers


I was wondering when natureís rights were
substituted for human rights, somebody tell me

because, I mean, I care about the environment and all
I like trees, and Iím a vegetarian

but I was in a car with an environmentalist once
talking about the national forests, how they

were largely destroyed in the early nineteen hundreds
by loggers, but are protected now, and this environmentalist

said to me, "kill the loggers"
and the thing was, he meant it

he said he didnít, but he did, and I wonder if he realizes
what heís willing to sacrifice for what he thinks is right

I wonder if the loggers would agree with him

janet kuypers

make people think

I donít want to draw
I donít want to write
but I donít want to do nothing
I want to make waves
I want to annoy people
I want people to know that Iím smart
that Iím strong
that Iím in control
I want to affect people in one way or another
I want to change peopleís minds
I want people to think I am great

janet kuypers

the one at mardi gras

i was at mardi gras last weekend
and i got a bunch of beads from parades
(no, i didnít lift my shirt for them) -

and a friend of mine had a balcony
on bourbon street, and so we were on it
on friday night, and the swarms

of people stretched for over a mile. it was
a mob, no one could walk and the crowd
just kind of carried them along. and all

the men expected women to get naked
for them for beads, and from my balcony
i would see every few minutes a series of

flash pops, coupled with a roar from the
crowd, and i knew a woman lifted her shirt
for the screaming masses. i refused, however,

to strip for drunk strangers, when i knew
they all expected me to, being on a balcony
and all. so men would look up at me and stretch

out their arms, looking up inquisitively, as
if to ask either for me to give them beads
or for me to strip. and since i wasnít stripping

and had plenty of my own beads, i decided
to turn the tables and see if men would accept
the same conditions they asked of these women.

when they looked up at me for something,
i would say, "drop your pants." they would look up
at me, confused, because the women are the

ones that are supposed to be stripping, but
in general i got two responses from the men:
either they would look at me like i was

crazy and walk away, or they would shrug,
as if to say, "okay," and then they would
start unzipping their pants. then they would

make a gesture to turn around, as if to ask,
"do you want to see my butt?" and thatís when iíd
yell, "the front," and then theyíd turn back

around, with their pants and their underwear
at their knees, and start moving their hips
(which i never asked for, by the way).

so over the course of the evening i
managed to get at least twenty men to
strip like this for me, and i was amazed

that there was this society, this micro-
cosm of society, that allowed this kind
of debauchery in the streets, a sort of

prostitution-for-plastic-beads form of
capitalism. so i was reveling in this bizarre
annual ritual when this man,

average to everyone else, wearing grey and minding
his own business, decided to look up at me. so
i asked him to drop his pants, and instead of

disgustedly leaving or willingly obliging
he crossed both hands on his chest and looked
up at me, as if to ask, "you want to me do

what? you naughty, naughty girl." and he
smiled and looked up at me, and it occurred
to me that i finally found someone in this

massive crowd that thinks they way i do.
now, new orleans has a population, from what i
hear, of about one million, but during mardi gras

there are about nine or ten million people, and
all i could think was that of all these people
here, i finally found someone who wouldnít

blindly do what i asked, but at the same time
wouldnít think i was crazy for asking.
of course as i looked at him i also happened

to think that he was stunning, by far the best-
looking man i had seen that entire night, he
looked like he had style, like he was self-

confident, but then again, iím nearsighted
and was on a balcony drunk at mardi gras.
we hit an impasse when he wouldnít strip

and neither would i, so his attention was
eventually diverted to other balconies. but i
noticed for that next half-hour that he never left

from under my balcony, and every once in a while
he would still turn around and look up at me. oh,
boy, i was thinking the entire time, i know

this is no way to start a relationship, hell,
iím sure this guy lives nowhere near me, and
i havenít even had a real conversation with him,

but heís damn near perfect. and all that time we
were screaming and partying at mardi gras,
he would still occasionally turn around and

make sure i was still there. and finally he
looked at me, signaling that he had to move
on with his friends, and i held up my index

finger to make him wait and then i threw
a bunch of beads at him. part of me threw
them because he was a good sport, putting

up with my taunting and still not giving in,
but a part of me threw them because i
saw in him the strong values and the sense

of self-worth, the sheer love of life, the
desire to be alive, that i possessed all along
and have always longed for in someone else.

janet kuypers

MRZ #8

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Last Updated 8/23/98.