levelheaded: Forget Porn

This poem opens with a demand: “Give me a picture of the economy.” The speaker comes out swinging. Her dream of a “bright and certain” world is ingenuous and hopeful. She is a person who can imagine a place where things are cheaper and jobs are easier to come by. Much of the first half of the poem lists her fantasies of a world in which opera and fine arts degrees have real value – real monetary value. The poem, though, won’t let us forget that these are just fantasies. The speaker’s “bright and certain” world does not exist. The speaker demands “a picture of the economy,” but she immediately proceeds to create her own. It’s left to us to decide if her impatience is a cause or a symptom of her economic woes.

Either way, there’s an indictment of capitalism here. Only in a fantasy can opera and other fine arts provide enough financial sustenance to prevent suicide or a minimum wage gig at The Macaroni Grill. Beyond that, even a gig in the kitchen where the speaker has to “wear a hairnet” can’t alleviate the pain of high gas prices. In her long first sentence, the speaker is preoccupied with economics – nationally and personally. Then the poem shifts. The speaker trades in one fantasy for another. She tells us, “I can see it in my head,” just before describing throwing caution to the wind by having sex with the windows open and throwing away her “non-skid shoes” (presumably for the more dangerous “skid” variety). Again this is all made up, but this time the fantasy is more personal. She is no longer concerned with her sisters or “the economy.” She is concerned with an imagined scene of family life. The shift might be read as a subtle continuation of her indictment of capitalism. As she focuses back on herself, she becomes effectively selfish. The economic pressures of the first half of the poem instigate her self-concern.

The poem is written in a clear logical way, but still it reads as a meandering daydream. The speaker starts by considering her odd economic desires, but it shifts, following her train of thought into a sexual, procreative fantasy – almost brought back down to earth by the crying baby at the end. This brings us to the poem’s title. On one hand, it’s another demand, asking us (or in a vague slangy way, everyone) to “Forget Porn.” We don’t need it because there are other things to fantasize about. On another hand, it might be used in the same way people say “food porn” or “design porn.” This poem is the speaker’s own example of “Forget Porn” which allows her to forget how awful is out there by staying inside her own head.

-The Editors