Bi writer Chris Gudgeon has published 17 books and had bylines in magazines like Playboy and National Lampoon. Now he debuts his first poetry anthology.
February 13 2017 6:10 AM EST
February 13 2017 1:15 AM EST
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Bi writer Chris Gudgeon has published 17 books and had bylines in magazines like Playboy and National Lampoon. Now he debuts his first poetry anthology.
Canadian author Christopher Gudgeon has followed up his novels and non-fiction pieces with his first poetry anthology, Assdeep in Wonder. Exploring identity, desire, and gender, the collection includes the poem "Future Tops of America," which he was kind enough to share with us below. Find out more about Assdeep in Wonder here; Gudgeon will appear at West Hollywood's legendary Book Soup February 24.
The country salutes you,
Future Tops of America,
the Joint Chiefs of Staff have
reviewed the agenda and like
what they see. The President
signed an Executive Order;
there'll be a pancake breakfast
on the steps of the Lincoln
Memorial, and in every burgh
and burrow - from Loring Park
to Key West, mayors have
commissioned gold keys, to
unlock those ancient hearts,
as good people - neighbors
and friends - stand on tippy
toes to catch a glimpse of this
mighty army of men and angels.
Everywhere, across the nation,
people are waiting to see what
you do next. Onward -- unhurt,
unhated -- like Christian soldiers,
marching as to war . . .
The route is set,
Future Tops of America,
for a ticker tape parade, up
Chartres Street and down Orange
Avenue, across the West Side
Highway to the very end of
The Centerville Turnpike, past
the white-washed ranchers with
Huck Finn fences, past the tire
swing hung from the old oak tree,
festooned now with pink and
yellow ribbons, past the little
brick chapel, still wet with
Sunday prayer, past the junior
high, where the marching band
practices show tunes from the
approved list, where a solitary
boy lays in the cold, uncut grass,
dreaming of tether ball and a
Valentine kiss. Onward, little
brother, child soldier for this
fabulous Crusade, marching as
to war, but not as to war, as to
something even better . . .
Moms are baking,
Future Tops of America,
on every kitchen sill, from
Winnepago County to Wahneta,
apple pie and rhubarb Brown
Betty and every manner of
cobbler, crisp and crumble are
cooling in the afternoon shade.
Reverend Larson's organized a
box social in the park -
everyone's invited - and later
there's a potluck by the
Kenduskeag bridge. The Warren
boy will be there, Scotty Weaver,
Steven Charles, their bellies full
of bumbleberry coffee cake and
whoopee pie, buttermilk biscuit
and Tollhouse cookie. As the
bonfire fades, you'll assemble in
the town square to renew the
glorious stomp, marching, ever-
forward, because when you stand,
you stand alone . . .
Everyone's joining in,
Future Tops of America,
faster than a hidden glance; you
can feel the shift from Seattle to
Central Park, from Montrose to
Greenwich Village and all along
the Appalachian Trail. Domino's
is focus-testing toys for the
Junior Daddy JoyBox kid's meal,
batteries not included, as Carl's
Jr. launches the Future Tops
Bases Loaded Breakfast Burger:
three eggs - one sunny side up,
one over easy, one completely
scrambled - wedged with a slab
of lean sausage between two
pieces of dry toast. The
Salvation Army called, Future
Tops of America; they love the
whole marching motif, it's
something they can really get
behind: a single force, fresh-
faced, steadfast, fueled by
brotherhood and amyl nitrite,
ready to get down to business,
but never too busy to cuddle.
Even the Boy Scouts are getting
into the act, with patches for
Transgender Studies and Edging,
Voguing and Water Sports;
you'll be prepared for anything
in the America of the future,
Future Tops of America. Onward
Rebecca Wight, unhurt, unhated,
as to war or something better!
Onward Roxanne Ellis, unhurt,
unhated, as to war or something
better! Onward Eddie Justice,
unhurt, unhated, as to war or
something better! They are lining
the streets, brothers and sisters,
waiting for you pass, like Christian
soldiers, marching as to war; but
not to war. As to something even
bigger than war, something even
smaller than peace . . .
Jesus loves you,
Future Tops of America.
It's not a gay thing, He loves you
as a person and thinks next time
He's in town you should Netflix
and chill. In church halls and
chapels across America, from
Roanoke to Grant Town to
Laramie, in Mosques and
synagogues, from Fayetteville
and Topeka, in Kingdom Halls
and Christian Science Reading
Rooms, in Shinto Shrines and
Even every ashram, ordinary
folk, from Coconut Creek to
Braxton, are on their knees,
praying: God speed, Future
Tops of America! Concerned
Women are No Longer
Concerned, abiding truths have
given way to intemperate joy.
General Hollis sent a heart-
shaped balloon, a dozen yellow
roses and a handwritten note -
"Love is not a sin, no matter how
fleeting; crowns and thrones may
perish, kingdoms rise and wane,
but we shall never falter" - as
everywhere, across the nation,
good people, God-fearing men
and women, are answering the
call. Andy Gipson walks with
you, Future Tops of America,
John McTernan and Charles
Worley - Onward! - a single
force, one body, one mind,
steadfast but never settled,
because when we stand, we
stand alone, but when we march,
we march together . . .
There's a rhythm,
Future Tops of America
a kind of music that masks the
crack of thunder and that distant
hiss; it's hypnotic, the thump of
the boot, the thump of pump.
You would dance if you could,
Future Tops of America - the
Hustle and the Funky Chicken,
Do-Si-Do and Grind - but the
music is inside you now, and
every heart beats as one, because
you are marching with angels,
treading where only saints have
gone before, steadfast, determined,
the ranks increasing geometrically,
faster than a lover's cry, faster than
a mother's heart can break, your
ranks are growing and growing.
Spread the word Ricky Rius, let
the syllables explode from your
lips at 2,500 feet-a-second! Spread
the word Simmie Williams, unhurt,
unhated! Spread the word, August
Provost and hold your head high
because everywhere, good
Americans - mothers, fathers,
sisters, brothers -- are lining
this and every street, waiting - quietly,
patiently -- for you to pass.
Onward Brandon Teena, unhurt,
unhated, marching as to war or
something better! Onward Jason
Mattison, unhurt, unhated,
marching as to war or something
better! Onward Daniel Fetty,
unhurt, unhated, as to war
or something better! Onward
Paul Broussard! Onward Nireah
Johnson! Ever onward, Future
Tops of America, marching as to
war, but not as to war! As to
peace, but not as to peace! As
to something greater than war!
Something greater than peace!
Something not-quite formed and as
yet-unnamed, something very
nearly glorious, the kind of
something that, in this moment -
as the crowd stands in silence,
watching you pass - looks
an awful lot like love . . .