August 2009

You were playing with other peoples’ iPods,
Acting like the DJ, and I know you thought
The Music Master drives the tunes,
Gets the girls, is so cool, makes all the love,
But what you should understand is:
Shut the fuck up with the music you want to play, and
Give the girls the songs they want to dance to,
Because I want to watch them dance and sway,
And you don’t want to find yourself tied up, bruised, and bloody,
Waiting for the day I stop mouth-fucking your face.


People’s sisters have sex with people’s brothers,
And people’s brothers have sex with people’s brothers,
And people’s sisters have sex with people’s sisters,
People have sex with only-children,
And people have sex alone,
“And you have sex with my sister, Jenny?! For serious?
Because I didn’t think I had to ask you not to!”

“You don’t do it anymore,” she said,
Not at all petulant: curious,
Bourbon, tequila, sambuca, and gin,
One drink each is in my head,
She speaks, softly, pretty lips forming pretty words,
“It’s fate, darling,”
And my hair is standing up,
My hands are quivering, when I’m nervous
They shake, and she moves in closer,
Sheer sundress fluttering nebulous over legs,
She’s leaning in, and I’m acting calm,
I never have the right words at times like these,
So I speak without thinking, right before she leaves,
“Maybe we can shove some random objects into each other?”
We can’t today.

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