Donate

2022 John MacKay Shaw Award

find poems find poets poem-a-day library (texts, books & more) materials for teachers poetry near you

Demetrius “Mighty Mouse” Johnson Turns a Suplex
into a Flying Armbar 

by M. Avery Robinson
 

Demetrius “Mighty Mouse” Johnson Turns a Suplex into a Flying Armbar Go ahead, Mr. Johnson, sly Mr. seven-step shuffler, the tap televised: foldof bait beneath a tuck of four-ounce gloves, a fishing pole of flesh & bonein the cut. Me and my pops looseour jaws to the floor when big Mighty Mouse looms large with his 5’3” slab of trap doors & makes his torso break, transing mid-air from prey to the one who preys to pro-chef, butchering cuts with a magma suplex flowing to the shape of an armbar hold. Bonebreak lava is the name I grace Ray Borg’s face with, the same fire painting my own with lava as smoke plumes funnel from my ear in 5th grade. A mosh pit of warm blood folds in the hands of the playground bully. Add transitions and growth: Cue camera cutsto me now—my lil’ naps ablaze in the overhead panorama—blue-pink heart, bone marrow strong enough to jackknife a fight ring. I blur my body from twink & break to a chrome femme-bot, blinks & beeps beaming off glass eyes. Hi-fi lasers mighty gold studded grace my robot ass, jagged flat-bust-square-hips-lookin’ me—mightyfine but trapped by two cannonball legs & a juggernaut body. A grain of salt & lavaare how I swallow dysphoria, bitter pill of bullshit & excess serotonin. Give me a break.I know what these Muay Thai limbs can do, these doughy hips ain’t made to bear kids, fold clothes or swallow curves with suits—they were made for quick joint locks, biology of bone, adaptation; Cut that, I’m the beauty of transition. I suplex this skin-deep gender, cutloose bits of inherited forms & trauma ’cause I make confusion look good. Oh Lord al-Mighty, this triflin’ body electric of mine you made. I run it like a 1975 Chevy Impala, bone this rock-star engine with hot tendrils of sexual tension, tires tonguing the road lava-like & burning rubber as I brake-check cops in my wake. I transition hard & hot—fold & debase this bruised boy-genius prison I make new shapes my bait, break-dancin’ in a garden snake’s prism, carvin’ personas I cascade new genders through, break neckbones of

 

This poem first appeared in Obsidian: Literature & Arts in the African Diaspora's Playground Issue.

back to University & College Poetry Prizes

poets.org

Find Poems
Find Poets
Poetry Near You
Jobs for Poets
Read Stanza
Privacy Policy
Press Center
Advertise

academy of american poets

About Us
Programs
Prizes
First Book Award
James Laughlin Award
Ambroggio Prize
Chancellors
Staff

national poetry month

Poetry & the Creative Mind
Dear Poet Project
Poster
30 Ways to Celebrate
Sponsorship

american poets

Books Noted
Essays
Advertise
© Academy of American Poets, 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038
poets.org