Two Poems
by Aida Riddle

 
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THE PROCESS

Grungy low ceilings, cinder block walls, in a building that was owned by Monsanto. There’s a window that if you accidentally look through you see bulls fucking. Well a sex simulation. There’s a pen where they bring in the bulls from which they’re extracting semen. Cows are the bait and they get the bulls to mount the cow, but instead of them fucking the cow the do a switch-a-roo and they give them a lubed up AV. Artificial vagina. They use KY jelly. They have a room full of KY jelly top to bottom. That’s the job of the farming cooperative, which is the stud company. I have a coworker who stares through the window, and has full on conversations with herself. She meows to herself. She sings songs to herself, but when she doesn’t know the words, she doesn’t hum like a normal person, she meows. She went to school for biology. Everyone there did—that’s how you get the job, unless you know a technician who already works there. She’s the weirdest and worst and just shares shitty memes from facebook over the lunch hour. We get our samples from the organization next door, Genex, a farming cooperative. They also sell their own samples, but those samples are unprocessed. Our process sexes the semen to make sure the resultant cow is female. We have a machine that is able to split the stream of the sample with a laser by weight. It can determine the weight of X and Y gammites. We keep the X gammites and have a monopoly on this process. The thing we have a patent on is the nozzle that splits the stream of sperm. But I don’t know the exact process. I don’t go asking questions about fucking jizz. The stream is tiny; imagine poking a pinhole in a seltzer bottle. This tiny sample is then caught by a vial filled with a mixture of egg and antibiotics. The gammites feed off of the egg and are protected from disease by the antibiotic. Then we do the centrifuging and lab process to extend it so that there are 1 or 2 samples per straw. The straws look like ink cartridges in a pen. Like in a Bic. But it’s filled with heavily processed semen sample instead of ink. And then the straws are immersed in liquid nitrogen and flash frozen. This is where I come in. I sort them into groups of ten in accordance with each bull that gave a sample. Then I give them back to the company that gave us the jizz in the first place and then they sell it. I’m responsible for hundreds of thousands of cows coming into this world. And I’m more repulsed by working in the dairy industry than I am working with frozen straws of semen cause I get to use pliers and tweezers for the yucky stuff. That being said it pays the bills. I typically make about $3,500 dollars a month with benefits.

 

THE PAST 8 MONTHS

There’s another girl coming, and we have no connection. Couldn’t you tell? I’m also allergic to cats, so your house is very uncomfortable for me. So I’m gonna leave. I’m emotionally weird right now, you know, I’m in love with someone else. I’m not over my ex. You actually remind me too much of my ex. That’s the problem. You and my ex would have really gotten along. You’re both really possessive. And I don’t like PDA. You always try to kiss me public. I can see myself really liking you and you being like a second girlfriend. So I think we should just be friends, because I want to be able to introduce you to my real girlfriend and say ‘hi’ to you in public. I know I would hurt you, I’m just not a very good person. Sorry. I don’t think you’re intellectually on my level, but I do love your lips! It’s okay. We’ll hang out again soon. I’ll see you at the show later. We’ll be friendly. Wait. Sorry. My other date showed up so you actually don’t need to come. Raincheck? It’s okay girl don’t worry, we’ll fuck again soon. Sorry, I haven’t responded to your texts, I’ve just been really busy remodeling my kitchen. Also, my phone’s weird, I just don’t get texts sometimes. I haven’t reached out to you because I’ve been broke. I’ve just been working like crazy, and I don’t have any money. Let’s hang out tomorrow. But let’s stay close to mine. It takes too long to get to your apartment. I’ve been thinking about it, and I just don’t think I can be your booty call. It has nothing to do with you! My wife won’t let me out of the house. If you really want to hook up you need to come over, and hang out with me and my wife, and then maybe we can slip away to the garage. You’ve been saying your wisdom teeth hurt, right? Take this Percocet. Oh fuck! What I fed you wasn’t Percocet, it was Seroquel. You seem really out of it. Just go home. I have to get up early tomorrow anyway. I’m not young anymore. Okay wait, you can stay the night, but we’re not having sex. I’m just not a very sexual person. We’ll hang out in the garage. I’m going straight to bed, with my wife, and I’m leaving my house at 7am. You know, I really like you, and I think that this could go somewhere, can you send nudes and videos of you masturbating? I think we could be good together. But babe, you need to change if you want to be my girlfriend. You gotta drink much less. You gotta stop talking to strangers on the street. And we can’t go out together. Ever. Can you call me after your shift? If you’re dirty and sweaty after work, that’s even better, so don’t hesitate to call me. You can come sit on my face. Ask me for the milk. Beg for the milk. You’ll be second to nothing, except maybe my music, my saxophone will always be priority, but it’s you right after that. Actually, my wife and I are working things out, for the children.

 
 

Aida Riddle is a New York City native cat lover, Miss Moody. Amorous hornball, though mostly celibate. A celebrator of kindness and honesty. Survivor enthusiast and hopeful future contestant. Sad punk boy enamored by the writing of Arthur Rimbaud. If she were an animal she'd be a cheetah, but if she got to choose, she'd be a frog.
Instagram: @scabiesbabies