Matthew Guenette

Un-Buddha

The house sitter for instance fucks up
scooping the litter box, so when we get back
the toilet is clogged with a week’s worth

of unflushed flushable litter. My wife remains calm,
ready to give an honest effort while I plunge
and plunge in an apoplectic freak-out,

just talking to myself—“Seriously? Seriously?
A monkey would know better…,“ dropping bombs
left and right, assassinating

the poor, I-was-only-trying-to-help
house sitter’s character. Meanwhile, upstairs,
the kids can totally hear my act. I’m aware of this.

Even before the show is over, I know
this will be a way I’m remembered: dad
in the basement screaming at a toilet,

at a cat box, at mom’s fat scuzzy cat. Undignified
Dad. Unmindful. The un-Buddha throwing
one of his famous, short-lived,

comically outsized tantrums. When they’re grown
and out of the house and reminiscing,
they’ll recall this version of me.

They’ll laugh and send a joke tie
for Father’s Day, something patterned with cats.
Or so I hope. That’s the poem: my hoping.



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­­Matthew Guenette is the author of two collections: American Busboy (U. of Akron Press, 2011) and Sudden Anthem (Dream Horse Press, 2008). He lives, works, uses the oxford comma, and loses sleep in Madison, WI.