Toy Gun Commercial
My envy is suffering the pink shag carpet
the blackbox theatre’s radioactive bracelet.
In the dream I wear a faux-Chanel suit
make plans in the dead mall
to take the bus to New York City
and start doing things differently.
Then I turn into a man
and slide a big hard cock inside me
then I run after him in sunlight
barefoot past the statuettes
before he disappears behind the mansion gates.
It’s 5 o’clock there and my envy is suffering
your punk vampires your voracious levitation
and/or your pert recognition of coincidence.
I fall asleep in the canopy strawberry bed
before the noir disappears
but after I daub on the hobby horse perfume.
I roll down the hill
I take down the white flag for a quarter
then we sit at fireside chat
and listen to big band music
and all the mechanical flowers.
| Jessie Janeshek |
|
levelheaded: Toy Gun Commercial
What the hell is happening in Jessie Janeshek’s “Toy Gun Commercial”? Well, we can’t be sure. One thing’s for certain though, the poem has energy. Rather than beating the poem to death while trying to figure out its “hidden meaning,” it might be fun to think about a couple questions. 1) What gives the poem its energy? 2) How does that energy impact the poem?
The poem is, at least in part, driven forward by its surprises. This shit’s strange. Take the first line: “My envy is suffering the pink shag carpet[.]” The syntax of this line, and the fact that it lacks punctuation, makes us, as readers, uncertain if or where we should pause. These deliberate choices by Janeshek allow the line to make emotional sense in a few different ways—the speaker is envious of the pink shag carpet; the speaker’s envy equals suffering; the speaker’s suffering is quickly quelled by the brightness of said carpet.
So, there’s complexity here, not just in the choice of images and the order of words, but in the way that those words might mean. The poem also contains enough road signs to keep its strangeness from overwhelming us. The phrase “In the dream” at the start of line three situates us. The strangeness isn’t gratuitous. It makes sense given the scenario. Placing himself in or recounting a dream gives the speaker license to hop from a “bus to New York City” to “your pert recognition of coincidence” to “the canopy strawberry bed.”
Another powerful technique that energizes “Toy Gun Commercial” is Janeshek’s use of I + verb statements (I wear, I turn, I run, I fall asleep, I roll down, I take down). Here, the simplicity and repetition of subject and verb strikes a nice balance against all the weird instances that follow the phrases mentioned. One thing happens after another with the fury of a dream sequence. But we can follow it! The poem moves, and we move with it.
Many of the poem’s surprises, as in the first line example above, open themselves to various metaphorical interpretations that infuse the poem with mystery. When we come to the final lines “I take down the white flag for a quarter / then we sit at fireside chat / and listen to big band music / and all the mechanical flowers,” the poem seems to come to an inevitable ending. The I statements are replaced by a we sitting together. Despite this shift, contradictions and mystery remain. Tough to “chat” with that “big band music” playing. How flowery is a flower if it’s mechanical?
– The Editors
