Dick Poetry - Sunday Surprise

At this point in the day, in my process of letting my body get used to a higher dosage of sedatives (lest I want to strangle strangers...okay, I still want to because strangers are made of people and we all know how I feel about people, but it's not so much a drive now as a simple urge that can be flipped away like the tiny devil it is on my shoulder), at this point I'm normally in the mini-coma. It comes later and later each day. Then I suppose one day it won't come at all. We can only pray.

But, as I'm vertical when I know my mind is at least leaning horizontally, I'm feeling creative. I think it's time to reel off a little dick poetry. You know, I might just make this a monthly thing. I kissed way over a hundred frogs in my day. I'm pretty sure I must've thrown some good ones back because you'd think a hundred would be enough.

At my ten-year high school reunion, I hear that people had decided I (who wasn't there) must be a lesbian because I still hadn't married and hadn't had any relationships that worked out really well for any amount of time. Believe me, by that point, had I even the slightest attraction to dating women, I would have considered it. But, no. Frogs and frog-kissing, that was my forte.

"and she asked, what makes you think he's a dick already"

we had literally been living together
for maybe a week
what on earth she must have wondered
could make things go so south
so sour
so fucking quick

i answered:
he comes home from work each night
as soon as he shuts the door he strips naked
each piece of clothing
pitched
really, like a baseball,
pitched across the living room
to hit the wall right behind the recliner
and slide down to the floor

no honey i'm home
no how was your day
no gee this is nice to come home to
no

as each piece of clothing hit the wall
then slid down to the floor
i wondered what the hell
would anyone do that for
as i recall the first time
i was too shocked to speak

then as if it were the most normal thing
what your everyday joe might do every day
naked man walked over to the recliner
and flopped himself down
with all of the grace
of a spoiled rotten
insolent
twelve year old boy
who hates life
hates his family
hates his school
and has everything,
save sense

i just watched
maybe i wondered
but i didn't have much time
to wonder
because before i could think
he shot both legs up and out
like he was going to straddle
some unseen horse
standing on its hind legs
right in front of him

or maybe it was more of
a yee-hah cowboy maneuver
and he let rip with a wind
or maybe
just maybe
he had a bullfrog
in his rectum
and he squeezed him too tight

then he stayed in that position
wild west fart-slinger
cowboy the ripper
and he leaned his head forward
and downward toward the action
and flared
and flexed
his nostrils
in complete satisfaction

by the time the cloud made its way to me
i knew i was doomed
i knew it was wrong
i'd let a man move into my space
without knowing he was both
captain fartastic and the brown town fogboy

and it was that way
every single night
strip
throw
hurl
self
legs
fly
nose
dies

no matter what i ask
no matter what i say
he's a foul-smelling dick
every single day
already
i had to
start leaving
a pillowcase
wherever he sat
or he left
puckerstains
and
i couldn't have that
it takes more than a
casual scrub
to clean a stain
like that