On Film NO. 2

by hio_fae

Sex is just sex.
Stop giving it different names.
I swear this is how different
languages formed.
We as a species used to speak
the same. Grunting, smiling,
using our hands. Like a pair of mating
animals. But then we had to call things.
And then call those things other things.
I swear due to the distance, not everyone
got the memo. Why do you think
long distance relationships don’t
last for long? Colonialism falls apart too.
Everything leaves a footprint.
Uprisings. It just matters what your
upbringings were. And this is why
I think the French are sad.
They mixed their language with the Germ-
ans—forming a lish. Does it sound like a lisp?
I have a bad habit. I think I can understand
any language I detect. Almost like a computer
detecting viruses.

“Hai. Hai. Hai,” say the dogs and the birds
begging for food while eyeing your trash.

“Araso,” say the condiment bottles as you squeeze harder.
They are willing to die so that you don’t have to taste GMOs.

 “Oui. Oui,” say the swings
as if they could console you even when you push
away or through your anger like the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.

“Bitte. Bitte,” says the chick
who wishes she could fly over the pool, only to get saved
by a black Labrador named Prince.