iron stomach

how much would you do it for
what is the literal lowest dollar amount
you would accept in exchange for
knocking back a shot glass full
of whatever garbage we find in the cupboards?
nothing that would kill you
just stuff that's gross
carrot seeds
olive oil
peat moss
the iron stomach prevails again
here's sixty-three cents I found
between the couch cushions amid morsels
of indeterminate origin

from the whoops and laughter arises a discussion
re: the toxicity of dish soap
but a godsend tells the chorus to chill out, maybe
and gives you a glass of water
just a regular-ass glass of tap water
and it's the best thing to touch your tongue in ages
you talk until the city buses start running again
you make plans like exited kindergarteners to meet
to eat
but at the moment you can't bear to think about even
swallowing your own spit
your stomach swears at you
your heart swears at you
you're thirty-four fucking years old
still taking bets
still a true believer in the binding nature
of the double dog dare
you collapse in your bathroom
why couldn't my party trick have been, I dunno
reciting pi
sleight of hand

the list is cut short by a jutting pain
at abdomen level
there's writhing
where once was your bellybutton
is now a rosebush, thick and dewy
the pain is no worse than that caused
by your more ill-advised exercises in
stunt eating
there's groaning and sobbing
comes with the territory
your vision snaps into focus just
enough to press on your godsend's number
fresh from their mouth to your thumbs
you apologize for the hour
you explain your peril
you beg them to come
and if they brought along some hedge trimmers
bolt cutters, something
that'd be nice