Weekly Poem: 'All My Friends' Barbecues Need Attending'

**By Carrie Oeding**
I'm not as much to look at as I think I am. It is the fashion to put oneself down, except when fishing. Someone hands me a plate of Mexican potato salad and says, *Who made this fusion crap?* My friends say, *We love you! Don't be so hard on yourself.* I keep moving toward the edge of the pool to see my nice ears. Friends! In order to have them I must say I let old people through doors first, that babies' shrieks make me gently call my breasts "momma," that every girl loves a pony, and that I think two lovers are broken halves that make a whole. I'll mention Rob's name. Rob. Rob says he'd rather go fishing than come to these barbecues. I agree. Rob and I aren't friends. The real moment of each night is when I decide between *I have trees for friends* or *I have friends for trees.* When I'm ready to tell a story, I will. When I am, back off. The best decision, when preparing to go, always is to make the Mexican potato salad. The wrong decision, when accepting an invitation is to admit I know that a separated couple, a deviated septum, and a three-fingered child are still not as bad as being the shy one in the group. Trees. Trees! The overlooked meat! I'd prefer to hate myself than just say I hate myself. My friends say I don't mention my friends enough. Give us names! And when it's time to say goodnight, someone calls me *Joan*.


[Carrie Oeding](http://www.carrieoeding.com/) is the author of "Our List of Solutions" (2011, 42 Miles Press). She is a native of Minnesota. She received her M.F.A. from Eastern Washington University and her Ph.D. in from Ohio University, where she was awarded the Claude Kantner Fellowship. She is a visiting assistant professor at Marshall University.