Night Music: DesperadoMarch 14, 2016
Poem: The Last Playboy of the West EndMarch 14, 2016
He stands erect
his jacket checked at the door.
Surveys the floor
where dancers more or less perform
to an MTV norm
writhing and circling by.
With his casual clothes
and his casual attitude
to casual sex
he is already a casualty
rushing headlong for an accident
and it meets him tonight in the form of
a Barbie-doll beauty with C-cup breasts
and a heart full of
She picks him
she tricks him
until he stands tall and hopeful.
He buys her a drink and engages in chat
while he makes sure that
he doesn’t smell too bad.
“Come back to my pad
and fuck me,” she croons
He swoons and tries to play it cool
but his head bobs up and down
like a fat man on a trampoline.
he strives to keep it in his pants
tries to make small talk
but just kind of rants
about nothing in particular,
his cock bent reticular in anticipation.
She parks and barks,
In the condo
he tries to fondle her charms,
but she wriggles from his arms.
“Show me what you got to arouse us.”
So he drops his trousers.
His flagpole slowly wanes in the breeze of her
Less than impressed
she refuses to divest
the clothes from her blessed
Instead, like a cat, she screeches,
“Whaddya call that?
Some kind of bonsai?
I’ve had 12 year olds bigger than you, boy,
and 70 year old royals making me come.
So I’m not gonna sleep
with some self-absorbed creep
with a prick the size of my thumb.”
He went home by bus
didn’t make a fuss
just pulled the trigger
gave a small shiver
like the third orgasm of the night
It was the first thing he’d done right