Sentimental Hallmark Fluff

Here I am, browsing through lists
of literary magazines in hopes
that I find one to submit to,
when I glance over number two-ten
and damn near fall out of bed,
a site called Forpoetry and
it's talking about how it aint open to
beginners' submissions, and I'm thinking
to myself how thats pretty shallow of them,
seeing as everyone gots to start somewhere,
and then they go on about how they don't want no
city posing punk junk, no corny sentimental
hallmark fluff, no academic workshop
imitations, which got me thinking
about how much I suddenly want to
write a poem about posing
my city nude with it's sagging
skyscraper tits, tattooed anarchy ass,
rivers of varicose veins, or maybe a poem
about growing up in my bare
chested city, how her alleyway
snatch hadn't smelled of stale fish
and only two cars could chug through
at a time, and I'm starting to wonder if
any teacher has ever given an assignment
to write about how my city would
stretch out on that PunkBoy centerfold,
the black top steaming in the heat
of summer, spreading her legs
on either side of the tracks, pregnant
with panhandlers and pedophiles,
looking like a sexed machine for Detroit
or Philly to hang above their beds
and jack off to each night, and I'm thinking
that if I ever wrote a poem like this, I would tidy it up real nice
with a title like "Butterflies" or "My Childhood Memories",
fold it up in an envelope with stickers of rainbows
and unicorns to make it look pretty, then ship that
shit down to the editor at Againstpoetry where it belongs.

But then again, maybe not.