Happiness

I’m happy
eating pretzels
watching K-dramas 
while out there 
the sub-zeros 
hurl their bodies from cunt to mouth to ass
never touching ground
distinct subconscious reactions to flightless dark ages
keeping their reptile brains busy

I love the am/pm mini mart
the foreign pours, hot & cold
the armpit grace of the feverish
gas-pumping proletariat
with no clue where fuel comes from
where cars come from 
clothes, sunglasses
their toy pets their pet bambinos
their fucking hot dogs smothered in corn syrup sauces

it’s bankable how gullible the general census is 
don’t bother to elaborate 
because buying in is such a special privilege 
leaving shock & outrage 
to those with “-ists” ending their pronouns

outside
in a blizzard of sunshine 
a desert leveled by moronic demographics 
ocean chock fulla tunafish sandwiches
just me & supra-partial contents of a Maersk freight container
why would I bother 
time-travel piloting a murderous locomotive weapon

I don’t need 
to get to where I don’t want to go
faster

A Painful Wedding

I was invited to the wedding of one of the daughters
Of a son-in-law of mine who pretended to be a doctor
At a private clinic.
She arrived at the altar dressed as a bride
Not knowing which priest was marrying her.
Beforehand, because the groom was taking so long
She went to confession with a priest
Whose face was hidden.
-Hail Mary, Father.
-Hail Mary, my daughter.
What sins do you have to confess?
-Father, I have a fever in my pussy
That pierces my heart.
Did you make love yesterday
And did your boyfriend rip your flower from its place?
-Yes, Father. But without my consent.
“We were going up the stairs of the house
And, like a lion, his penis got hard
Grabbing me from behind
Shoving it in
And I couldn’t do anything.
-Were you not wearing panties?
-Yes, Father.
-For God’s sake, my child.
 Don’t provoke the men.
They only thinks about getting laid wherever he can
And they even kill the birds and rabbits
The ones they raise at home.
Say three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers
That God will forgive you.
But, daughter
Judging by the way your dress is flowing
It seems you’re already married.
-Yes, Father. Don’t tell my fiancé anything.
When she arrived at the altar
The groom was already waiting.
When the priest approached the bride and groom
In all his Mass vestments
To congratulate them on their marriage.
She was stunned
To see this priest who, when a child, baptized her
Sprinkling the holy oils on her pussy
And, when a girl, at her Confirmation
Sticked the aspergillum in her vagina
So that, when she grew up
She wouldn’t offer it to any son of a bitch.
Since she was little
And didn’t know what it was or what it was for
Other than just for peeing
She answered:
-Yes, put it in deeper, Father
Because it itches.
When the wedding was over
The father told them:
-Pepito, whenever you want to enjoy
Pepita’s beauty
It must always be
With her consent.
And your windows and balconies
Must not face the street or the square.

Breakup Number Forget  

I go alone to pick a bone with the lady 
gives me the strength to 
tear myself apart. 
In her eyes lies the art 
to give and to take. 
But make no mistake, 
she gives one, she takes five. 
Broke with her last week. 
Tonight we meet 
like sea lions 
to seal the deal. 
She says the only seal be with a kiss. 
And I learn what is obvious 
to anyone not in love with hell: 
walk away once, 
come back to make sure, 
is twice as ever 
hooked on the bait of kiss the witch. 
And when you taste the tongue, 
you know it’s done. 
Oh, my dear god in hell – 
can you not just cut me 
one break? 

Magic Fingers

Iowa City’s massage parlors
catered to forsaken gentlemen
of all vocations—truckers, day laborers,
shift workers, nervous students who
didn’t have time for girlfriends. 

I perched on a couch between two other women
and waited for patrons to make their pick.

Some guys liked blondes, others, brunettes.
Each chose a masseuse as casually
as he might select a six-pack.
A one-girl back rub with extras cost the same, 

no matter who supplied it. I started with 
shoulders, running my fingers 
along stringy muscles, squeezing flesh 
like overripe fruit, eventually working my way

downwards. The men liked to pretend 
I was an innocent conquest, perhaps 
sipping beer at an off-campus haunt
on an awkward first date.

“Are you a student?” 
“What is your major?”
“What do you do when you’re not working?”

They finally emitted milky streams
of pleasure, grunted a couple of times,
and wiped themselves off with a hand towel.

Afterwards, I joined the other women
on the well-worn lobby couch, and we
watched Rockford Files reruns until it grew so late

that Iowa City’s cache of lonely guys
had all gone to sleep: solo in a single bed
or curled beside their unsuspecting wives,
but alone either way. 

Heat

It was hot, an understatement I cannot
overstate. Meanwhile, good boys and
girls sat in crisp, cool air-conditioned
cubicles, with cat calendars and birthday
cake for the receptionist. We were dying
from heat, gas station diets, and
Marlboros. Their souls died young, but
their bodies would go on another seventy
or eighty years, assuming the
apocalypse would not happen before
then, just staring at blue screens, neither
alive nor dead, zombies in skirts and ties.
Sweat poured off my face into my eyes,
stinging, constantly wiping away. The
men fawned over the new girl, wiping
glistening sweat from her forehead and
cleavage, giving momentary distractions
along with the fights and betting. She had
them wrapped around her finger even
more than the boss. It was hot, an
understatement. 

The Water Board

I had a temp job
with the California Water Board
but I was a grungy piece of shit
smelling of cigarettes and Paisano,
a cheap Gallo chianti
I’d swig over my shoulder
as I crept along in my 4 door Nova
Those would have been the days
accept for
the unmitigated misery
“We expect professional attire,”
said my temp boss
“Is this okay?” I asked
“Um, I guess.”
My flannel shirt was purple and brown
it was the ugliest shirt in the world
Why would I wear
a shirt that ugly?
Because I was exhausted
and it was
the only clean thing
about me.

Haunted

I miss them
their bodies
their softly yielding 
bodies
their lovely
lively
lips
that I somehow managed
to fill
for a while

But when I think of them afterwards
I think of their teeth
imprinted on me

Smiles glowing behind red eyelids
shut against the sun
buried in layer upon layer of summer
days
turned cold
I still yearn for
with digging hands

I used to only think how good it was 
to have many lovers

Now, sometimes, I wonder
if I have only become
the architect 
of a large, empty house.

But What Would Live Instead?

Without eyes he haunts you. 
He finds your every dream
and turns it into blackness.
And before he disabuses you of your hope,
he drills new sockets through your skull,
so a new pair of unlighted eyes 
can look into his silent soul
and see there nothing.

HST proudly presents Komodo Dragon Tongue, double-pronged poems by Catfish McDaris & Ryan Quinn Flanagan.

BUY A COPY HERE

SEXY DWARFS

Going to a brothel
On Calatravas Street
We went up the stairs
To the first floor.
We rang the bell
And a couple appeared
A man and woman
Like sheep
That were Asian, from Indonesia
As they said
With whom we agreed
The price of sex
Which was twenty euros.
When they called the girls
To see which one we’d get
We were surprised
To see that they were dwarfs
All of them, about ten
Wearing short dresses
Dragging their breasts on the ground.
One after another
Jumping around us
They sang to us:
-Come on, sir, to my pussy
We’ll do it in bed.
We have good teeth
To suck you off.
My friend and I looked at each other
As if saying
Without saying a word:
-We can’t fuck sexy dwarfs.
The girls circled around us three times
Feeling to see if we had an erection
Jumping for joy at first
Then, silent in sorrow
For not being able to get anything out
When they heard us 
Telling the pimp sheep
That we would return tomorrow.
The little ones went inside
All the way to the kitchen
Looking tired
Listening to one of them say:
-What bad luck
Not being able to enjoy a cock.
We’ll have to do it
With a spoon.