Just to Keep Him Happy

‘He asked me to wank him
whilst I breast-fed
our baby daughter.
I found it disgusting but
he wouldn’t stop asking,
so I did it,
just to keep him happy.
It wasn’t nice for me,
but I love him and I know
that he sees other women,
he tells me, brags of it,
I know he uses me and
I can’t tell you of the pain
when he fucked my ass!
I asked him to stop,
maybe three or four times,
but he said he couldn’t stop
and carried on; I felt so dirty
and self-disgusted.
It’s been four months 
since I saw him last,
he may be dead, murdered
by a jealous husband!
I hope so,’ she said, 
lifting her little girl
to kiss and stroke her
soft and beautiful face.

passion 

a bed lay in tatters 
from a night well spent. 
two lovers coil 
together 

the room remains hot, 
a/c cannot keep up. 
rain beats relentlessly 
against motel walls 

i light a cigarette, 
take a long drag, 
blow smoke through 
a cracked window 

a gray fat horizon fills my eyes,  
storm clouds thrash in anger. 
thunder sounds, but lightning  
never comes 

progress 

i always 
answer his call 
his text 
his time 
limited 
but he wants me 
needs me 

sometimes i sneak 
in his backdoor 
creep past  
family pictures 
on a wall 

sometimes i answer 
his knock 
on a seedy motel door 
wearing a jock strap 
and a smile 

sometimes we sit 
and talk at a restaurant 
over lunch 
about the future 
about things that will never occur 

the last time 
i met him 
at our motel 
on the edge  
of the town one over 
far from our own 
he tells me 
i love you 
and i wonder 
if those three words 
are the same lie 
i’ve heard before 

send pics 

i contort my body into strange positions 
take pictures with my cellphone  
ass, cock and balls. 

i am too old for the game  
but there are those 
in the queer crowd that request 
proof before letting games begin. 

and i really don’t have anything better to do  
on a Friday afternoon. 

fucking  

there’s not a lot of planning 
forethought 
putting things together 

pants to ankles 
bent just enough 
press it in 

fucking 

his weight pressing 
onto me 
hot breathe on my neck 
nothing spoken
grunts and moans 

pace quickens 
he’s close now 
i think of winter 
holiday gift giving 
a long vacation to Jamaica 
or France 

fucking 

he tenses 
freeze 
stabs deep 
releases his poison 

he zips up 
mutters something 
i pull myself together 
he says, 
thanks 
and 
see ya later 

i sit in the corner 
watch crows peck at dead cowboys 
i lick powder from a mirror 
load one last round  
into a gun

Lady UPS Driver

She
is a blonde destroyer
of antiquated gender norms.

Resplendent 
behind the wheel
of that iconic brown truck.

And that 
iconic brown uniform
fits her perfectly –

I’m tempted
to blow the rent money
on stupid shit 
I don’t even need.

Stupid shit
I don’t even want.

Just to experience 
the utter bliss 
of having her handle
my package.

Frownland

Your semi-liquid remains trickled down from the cross 
Formed pools of black sludge in the cracked dirt

I writhed on the ground before you in pain and disgust 
Your promised return a poem gone to fuck

You spoke of the God inside the pus in your brain 
The Devil that gnawed at the valves of your heart

I sucked your flesh and drank your juice 
You tore at my eyes so I’d be blind to your rot

As they dragged you away your deified 
Face shot me a look as sure as a cock

With cruel bliss they plied me with ant covered 
Snacks and a bedspread of xanax and spikes

Then I knew they had won so with  pleasure and pain 
I spewed up our hate that you called our love 

Now I sit by a chemical lake plastic shovel in hand 
Digging your grave and licking the coal from my heart

Never Shit Your Own Pants 

Heidi came running down the hall  
and said that Frank had done it again. 

Amy was charge nurse, 
responsible for the entire building 

And all the residents at the Guildwick 
Home for the Elderly. 

Sam was sent with Heidi to deal with Frank. 
He did the same thing at least three times a week. 

Went into others residents’ rooms
and stole their pants before shitting in them 
and walking around the ward. 

The smell was horrible. 
Even for seasoned nurses and staff. 

Ok Frank, pants off!, 
said Sam. 

Heidi stood back to avoid the splatter. 

Don returned from lunch break and laughed. 
Ah Franky, I see there was an accident!

Frank said nothing. 
An acquired brain injury had left him  
largely mute. 

Sam double gloved and ran off to dispose 
of the pants. 

Leaving Heidi and Don to clean Frank off 
and get him ready for bed. 

Whose pants do you think they were this time? 
asked Heidi. 

Who knows, 
laughed Don. 

Frank kept cupping water in his hands 
and splashing it against the wall. 

His wife had died six years ago. 
Frank had no one now. 
Just a power of attorney who lived 
in a different city and couldn’t care in the least. 

It’s pretty smart if you think about it, 
Don said. 

What is? 
asked Heidi. 

Never shit your own pants, 
Don said. 
Look in Don’s closet. 
He has at least twenty pairs of pants, 
but never shits in any of those. 

Heidi looked over to the large brown wardrobe 
across the room and laughed. 

So you think Frank is some kinda genius of something? 
Heidi laughed. 

Crazy, not stupid!, 
Don said. 

I think you’re going to steal other people’s pants 
when your time comes, 
Heidi nudged Don jokingly. 

I’ll have my own gig, 
announced Don. 
Shit really isn’t my thing. 

Are pants? 
joked Heidi. 

Just then, 
Sam returned to check and see 
how things were going with Frank 
who kept grabbing at the towel 
as Don dried him off. 

I need you to go check on Natalie, 
Sam told Heidi. 
She’s up and screaming bloody murder again. 

Heidi ran off to check on Natalie. 
Amy was at the nurse’s station. 
Having already begun the paperwork  
on Frank’s latest incident.

Heaven Wasn’t Made For Elves

Heaven wasn’t made for elves.
Santa’s boys just get recycled to the Christmas shop.
Some of them don’t like it, always toilin’ for Big Red
While he gets to fly around every Christmas Eve
Like it’s a party.  Ho, ho, ho!  What ya know, Joe!
That big lump of lard hits most the houses,
Hits the women that are willing and waiting, too.
One night outta the year, he works the heck outta his chubby.
Mrs. Claus knows it, has for years.  So, she does the elves
While he’s out.  Christmas morning, they’re all beat.
So beat, they skip church.  That works out fairly well.
If they hit the confessional, they’d have it tied up till next year.
All the elves that met with accidents on Nick’s rounds:
Falling from the sleigh, trampled in a reindeer stampede,
Shot scaring the Hell outta people by coming out the fireplaces
That have chimneys too tight for Santa’s fat ass.  All those elves
Magically end up back at the shop.  It’s that reincarnation thing.
Ain’t one of them wouldn’t love to come back as one of
Satan’s helpers, his imps that rejoice in causing pain and misery.
Hurts the face smilin’ all the time being slaves to happiness.
Maybe they could mix it up.  Yeah, some good/some bad.
If they could, the rum tab might go down at the workshop.

the intimacy of shame 

by hotel bathroom candlelight, she helps 
you into a slip of white purchased for 
a different kind of sacrifice.  no belts 
tonight or lewd advice, pubic hair or 
pigtailed disguise to make this easier 
at all.  they do not even allow you 
any alcohol while at the dinner 
where they contemplate you over steak. new 
girls feel best when they shake a little,
nervous skin she will open up for him.
while you whimper from the gentle 
touch. never knew you’d feel this small again,
a college girl grown comfortable with pain
they teach the intimacy of shame. 

Sepscendence

Fire 
in my lungs
and poisoned veins, 
fading
in (to white)
out (to black),
I see the eye of God—
unflinching
cold
against the welcoming void 
of closed lids…
…that dream?
Is He keeping vigil?
Calling in the loan?

Always attending 
never 
ending,
His watch, nary a waver,
there
between the veil
‘til shadows 
of angels, wingless
white
against the blaze of
artificial suns, rouse me 
back 
to this world of light 
and illusion—the Hell 
of my own making,
Was He keeping vigil?
Calling in the loan?

I suppose I’ll never know

***

Originally published in Alebrijes Review

Self-Pity in the Day to Day

I hadn’t vomited
in a while
so I guess
I was in good graces
somewhere

But
I still had
no pussy
to relieve
the stress
of the job

No-one
to occupy
the vacant spaces
of my mind

So
I just drank
and drank
(but did not vomit)
and smoked
a bowl or two
before bed

Some people
would prefer to die
in similar situations
and many of them
do

The thought
goes through
my mind often

But
I’m still here
and tomorrow
will probably be
the same

Death in the Modern Era

When you learn
a friend died
on Facebook
you stop to wonder
if he was alone
at the end

Were we all
too busy typing
to hold his hand

And you imagine
the last moment
when the very last
breath shook out
of his lungs

You feel a boot kick
right in the center
of your chest

Then you click
the sad face
emoji and
sigh