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Posted on 01/10/2026 3:33:31 PM PST by DoodleBob
Renee Nicole Good, a 37-year-old Minneapolis poet, wife and mother, was shot and killed Wednesday by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer, setting off nationwide protests over the officer’s actions and the Trump administration’s immigration enforcement policies.
Good’s poem, “On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs” was the 2020 Academy of American Poets Prize winner at Old Dominion University.
…..
Her poem “On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs” was selected from about two dozen submissions as a prize winner.
The poem reads (stylized as per https://poets.org/2020-on-learning-to-dissect-fetal-pigs):
(Excerpt) Read more at newsweek.com ...
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solipsist sunsets,
& coastal jungle sounds that are tercets from cicadas and pentameter from the hairy legs of cockroaches.
i’ve donated bibles to thrift stores
(mashed them in plastic trash bags with an acidic himalayan salt lamp—
the post-baptism bibles, the ones plucked from street corners from the meaty hands of zealots, the dumbed-down, easy-to-read, parasitic kind):
remember more the slick rubber smell of high gloss biology textbook pictures; they burned the hairs inside my nostrils,
& salt & ink that rubbed off on my palms.
under clippings of the moon at two forty five AM I study&repeat
ribosome
endoplasmic—
lactic acid
stamen
at the IHOP on the corner of powers and stetson hills—
i repeated & scribbled until it picked its way & stagnated somewhere i can’t point to anymore, maybe my gut—
maybe there in-between my pancreas & large intestine is the piddly brook of my soul.
it’s the ruler by which i reduce all things now; hard-edged & splintering from knowledge that used to sit, a cloth against fevered forehead.
can i let them both be? this fickle faith and this college science that heckles from the back of the classroom
now i can’t believe—
that the bible and qur’an and bhagavad gita are sliding long hairs behind my ear like mom used to & exhaling from their mouths “make room for wonder”—
all my understanding dribbles down the chin onto the chest & is summarized as:
life is merely
to ovum and sperm
and where those two meet
and how often and how well
and what dies there.
She’s a member of the Dead Poet’s Society now!
Her work is shit.
That evil hag is where she belongs.
It’s Vogon level!
Yeah. See? If somebody truly loved this person, they would’ve been honest with her and told her she sucks as a poet.
Yeesh. Can you imagine how crappy the runner-up’s poem was?
I’m all for art, modern art, free jazz, and pushing the envelope.
But my goodness this is awful.
Except every "Somali family in need" in Minneapolis is driving a brand-new Mercedes G-Class.
Don’t quit your day job, Renee. What’s that? Never mind...
LOL! Renee and Maya Angelou are the premier incoherent members of that society.
ROFLAMO!
Being ‘a poet’ is cover for folks who don’t have jobs and don’t want to tell the world they’re ‘job’ is to hate.
Thats a Darwin-Award winning poem, without a doubt.
LOL!
I may protest.
Those I detest.
If I fail to comply,
my headrest could be a mess.
Nevermore!
Totally. She should’ve joined their intergalactic highway department.
Can someone who speaks poetry translate what it means in English.
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