POEMS:
1:
cuckold-maker
I fucked his wife
and it pleased me to do so
call me an asshole
call me immoral
call me The Devil
I call myself:
The Cuckold-Maker
A noble act
of civil-disobedience
an open act of disrespect
disrespect for the husband
disrespect for marriage
:that obsolete & vile institution
In a nice hotel, in the car,
in the basement
...I fucked his wife
and it pleased me to do so
it pleased me to make a cuckold
I'd see him
Mr. In-control
Mr. Heart-o-gold
Mr. Achievement
I saw
: Rotten son-of-a-bitch
selfish potential-cuckold
She saw
: Misery-making motherfucker
And I'd quietly laugh
I fucked his wife
and it pleased me to do so
He suspected something
He questioned:
"are you sleeping with him"
Yes, my friend
I fucked your wife
She sucked my dick
I ate her pussy
She got on top
I got on top
She hates your guts
I hate your guts and
am pleased to show
this disrespect
Yes, my friend
you're Cuckold of the Month
And you just might be so
next month too
Marriage isn't
what you think it
ought to be
There'll be more
cuckolds
There'll be more
cuckold-makers
Dearest Reader;
...just keep believing
in the monopolization
of an adult's time & sexuality
and you too may be the next cuckold
And I may be your maker
7JAN01
2:
The Microwave
Even when I see her from a distance
she heats me up
From somewhere deep inside...
...something about the way she's made
and the way she moves
and the way she speaks
I go from ice to vapor in 4 seconds
Ah! But all of this energy is being spent nowhere
She's the first woman
whom I can accept as
"just a friend"
She's the rare woman
who's convincing
when she says
"I don't go for one-night stands"
She
attends mass
spends holidays with her parents
gets along with her sisters
vacations in Europe
wants to get married
follows the rules
follows the rules
follows the rules
In short:
a 24-karat suburban stereotype
Nevertheless, something radiates from
inside of her Wonder-bread lock-box
embroiling me in my own curiosities & desires
I heat up, thinking:
What's living in her 38D bra? And how can I get a glimpse?
Can she kiss?
I want to peel her socks off and press my face into her soles
I want to stand outside the bathroom door and hear her pee
Is her thang furry;
and does she fiddle with it whilst mired in DuPage County shame?
How would her hand feel, unzipping & reaching into my trousers?
I let myself imagine what her pussy must taste like
Might she finger her rosary to drive away her own unauthorized thoughts of me?
These mysteries & lack of answers
heat me up
& heat me up
& heat me up
& in her presence I
divert the steam she's produced
... keep it away from her thin, fragile DuPage casing
& over-sensitive guilt-secreting Catholic gland
The poor child mustn't be contaminated by the likes of me
And, so
I'm hot and
I'm hot
and I'm over-heated
and I write this piece whilst drinking Wild Turkey @ 2:03am
and The Microwave is surely asleep dreaming dreams that are authorized
for Republican Catholics to dream
In the morning
I'll be rapt in the euphoria of Sunday morning wood & coffee, as she's
genuflecting
& confessing
& lobbying the Monsignor to get her into Heaven
3:
They call it a townhall meeting
but if you stand back. Far back. Way back and in one of the corners... it's easy to see the truth: an exhibitionistic homoerotic melee that the entire company is forced to endure-half of us at 9:30 and the other half at 1:30.
King Fag/President (let's call him KF) announces:
Next, I'd like for KFB (King Fag's Buddy) to stand and let me suck his cock in front of everyone. [KFB stands up... in his wrinkled ill-fitting suit] KFB has worked long hours and weekends streamlining our site-to-site transfers. We should all be grateful for his efforts that are going to save the company 3% of what we'd expected to spend this fiscal year. [KFB smiles, and his hands are clasped in front of his mandatory paunch] KFB are you ready to cum? Yeah? Then shoot it all over everyone!
KFB is spent. He sits and KF introduces KFB2.
It goes on & on like this for 15 minutes. White middle-aged, balding, fag jacks-in-the-box. One after another. Pop pop pop! And KF cranks the cranks.
KF's glee subsides as he musters the ability and perfunctory sobriety to introduce Kathy-Ann. It would be in bad form for Kathy-Ann to either pop or appear in rumpled attire.
Politely, she stands. Polished diction, practiced gestures, perfunctorily dry-cleaned... she promises:
as we near the end of our 3rd quarter, a lot of exciting plans are nearing fruition. On October 3rd our office in Singapore will be open and ready to provide full support for our clients in the Pacific Rim. Currently, our market share in that area is 18%, but the location of the new office is expected to bring us up to 24-29%.
Blah blah blah!
Kathy-Ann finishes and KF applauds. The glimmer is once again in his eye as he returns to the real purpose of the townhall meeting. While standing there in the corner-beneath the lighted exit sign-I think of a math problem:
There are 174 people in the audience; 98 women, the rest are men. 60% of the audience is White, 14% Hispanic, 20% African-American, 6% Other/Mixed. 12% of the audience is balding.Question: Assuming that no person is introduced twice; of the next 2 people to be introduced, what is the probability that both of the final 2 people to be introduced will be White, male and balding? (The answer may or may not be surprising)
Well... the fellatio-fest is over, and the worn out Master of Crank Twisting is ready to go brush his teeth. And we applaud. For what? Each of us secretly hoping for the chance that one day we'll be able to stand and be brought off before envious eyes that are required to view the monthly cock-smoking? Well, there are some of us who endure this thing... either standing far in the back or wearing hazmat suits. We're White, non-White, female, male, transgendered. We're young & old. We're few! We're doing what we gotta do to pay for our tattoos and art supplies and groceries and shelter... even if it means being sexually harassed on the second Friday of each month at 9:30 or 1:30.
Poems Copyrighted by Mister Ozkr DuSoleil on assorted dates