Being Big

The worst thing

about having

oversized genitalia

is never knowing

if she loves you

for you.

I didn’t ask for it

to be this way,

and I sure as hell didn’t have it

surgically enhanced:

it’s just the way

God made me.

The one good thing

about being

Big

is the look of surprise

when they first see it,

sometimes in shadows

sometimes in light,

but they are always

dumbstruck.

After that wears off

they’ll straddle me

like a mechanical bull,

hang off me like a

stripper pole

and indulge themselves

with me as their

flesh-and-blood vibrator.

I’ve even had a few

get scared and try to demur;

but I’m always able to

convince them

because I’m gentle,

and then they give in,

and this is where

we both get fooled:

we both think

we’re in love.

Sometimes sooner,

sometimes later,

our differences

scrape up against one another

and the relationship

degenerates into

marathon sessions of

sweaty, visceral intercourse,

multiple orgasms,

and awkward silences.

Before each

first time,

I am so insistent

on practicing abstinence,

because I know

once we cross that line,

all we’ll ever do is have sex.

So,

I remain steadfast

that I will find the right woman

who will love me

for me,

who will walk with me

in the rain,

curl up and watch movies

all weekend,

will massage my scalp

every now and then.

Until then,

I’ll faithfully

continue the search

and I’ll keep erasing

all those

tempting

late night voice mails

that my loneliness

fights to convince me

are more than just

booty calls.

Buddah Moskowitz' Crying Circus!

Hurry! Hurry!
step right up, folks
for the most
miserable, self hating display
on Earth:

it’s Buddah Moskowitz’
Crying Circus!

Thrill to the high wire acts
as Moskowitz tries to walk
the tightrope of fame and humility
high above
the flaming pit of embarrassment
without a net!

Watch Moskowitz gamely try
to tame the lion of insecurity
and self-doubt!

You’ll feel the hot breath of flop sweat
as he places his head
into the lion’s mouth
and you’ll roar with laughter
when the beast closes his jaws,
crushing the unprotected head!

Enjoy the parade of clowns
as they tumble merrily
out of their miniature car
of Failed Romantic Notions:
there’s Darra,
the Psychotic with a Heart of Gold,
LanAnh,
the War Refugee turned Crass Materialist,
Kim the PsychoBitch,
with her hilarious false rape allegations
and who can forget Teresa,
the Professional Victim?

And no trip to the
Circus of Misery
would be complete
without a visit
to the
Moskowitz Freak Show!

See the Man without a Spine
and the Mother who Made him that way!

Thrill to our Strong Man
fueled not by magnificent muscle
but by anger at years of paternal neglect!

Laugh at the antics of
teenage David,
our Half-Man Half-Woman,
as he finds no place to fit
into high school!

Drop by our snack bar
and get your
Cotton Candy Promises
to munch on --
it’ll take the sting out of your day
for just a second,
and really pack on
those pounds
that’ll last a lifetime!

More fun than the Ringling Brothers!
More entertaining than Barnum and Bailey!
More frightening than a Tod Browning nightmare!

Buddah Moskowitz’ Crying Circus
coming to an empty parking lot
near you soon!

(No animals were harmed
in the making of this poem,
and I envy them.)

[Resurrected for #OpenLinkNight at dversepoets.com - where more mirth and whoopee await you!)

Fire Sale at the Misery Factory!

Everything Must Go!

After 46 years
in the same location,
the Misery Factory
is closing its doors
for good
and I’m practically
giving away
my inventory!

This handy book has
every self-deprecating comment
I ever made
to curry favor and
garner sympathy!

How about a life-sized puzzle
so convoluted and challenging
that only the most obsessive,
insane or
codependent person
would dare solve it?
It’s yours for a song!

Do you need
an extra tube of
Fake Smile?
It works great
to cover the all scars-
either accidental
or self-inflicted!

Yes, the Misery Factory
is closing its doors
forever
so let the madness begin!

And, for you collectors,
there’s my Classic Guilt Machine,
guaranteed to keep working
even in your sleep!
It sets up in an instant
and never really folds up neatly
for easy storage.

For that hard-to-shop-for person
on your list,
get the very same whip I used
to flagellate myself
anytime I didn’t reach
my target weight
or got a bad grade in school
or simply misspoke.

And remember,
with each purchase
from The Misery Factory
you’ll get a free mp3 download
of negative self-talk,
perfect for the car,
the gym, or anywhere!

Goodbye letters
in scented envelopes,

rough drafts of painful apologies,

even the restraining orders
for the man
who tried to kill me
after I slept
with his wife.

It's all here
and it all must go!

(Posted for #OpenLinkNight at dversepoets.com - come on along and play!)

No Better Than a Deadbeat Dad

“It’s tragic.”

Why?
Because he was following
his beautiful young wife
and kids home
from their weekend camping trip
on his motorcycle?

Why?
Because he just had
to do it?

He used to say,
“five minutes on this thing
is more alive
than most people know
in a lifetime.”

He lost his balance
and tried to lay
the bike down
as it slid out
from under him,

but the truck behind him
didn’t see
or couldn’t
react fast enough,

and then he was
just a crumpled
bloody mess.

And I’m supposed
to feel bad
and sorry
for the whole situation?

Bullshit.
Could’ve been avoided.

Listen,
when you become a husband
and then a father,
your life is no longer
your own.

You are the cornerstone
of the family,
the unseen provider
who’s supposed to make
it all look easy.

You don’t get to do
everything you want.

You don’t get
the privilege of racing your bike,
jumping out of airplanes,
or fucking all the women
you want,
because you’re supposed to be past
all that juvenile
macho bullshit.

You put on the ring,
and you make a deal,

and if you’re not going to respect that,
then don’t tell her
you love her.
Don’t impregnate her,
and then leave your kids
with unanswered questions
about the ghost
you’ll become.

You’ll be no better
than a Deadbeat Dad,
and twice as selfish.

And that life insurance policy
will be cold comfort
to your wife’s eternal loneliness,
as your son looks desperately
anywhere
for your
absent approval

and someone
who is not you
walks your daughter
down the aisle.

(For #OpenLinkNight at http://dversepoets.com/ - come in and play!)

Not Tonight

“Uh oh.
Not tonight.

When he kisses me
more than once,
I know he’s warming up
to something.

Maybe if I give him
a few tight-lipped
kisses…

no,
he’s not stopping.

Great,
he’s positioning
his whale-like frame over me.

Perhaps he doesn’t realize
he’s gained 40 pounds
in the last ten years,
but I do.

C’mon, let me leave
my shirt on.
I’m too tired to make this
a whole big production.

No,
I didn’t shower,
so there’s no way you’re doing
that.

I’ll suck his tongue,
that always does the trick.

Ow, you’re on my hair!

If he wasn’t so out of shape
he wouldn’t need the meds
for the high blood pressure,
the high cholesterol,
the diabetes,
and then
maybe he wouldn’t need the
Viagra,
which takes too long to work
anyway.

Finally.

He’s semi-hard,
like the mozzarella cheese stick
I put in the kid’s lunch.

This is
kind of
how I remember
it feeling.

If I turn over,
it gets in deeper
and he finishes faster.

I knew it.

I shouldn’t have moved.

Now it’s gone.

Shit.
This is frustrating.

Let me reassure him.
Again.

No, it’s ok.
That’s ok, really.

And now,
here come the
inevitable
apology.

Please
whatever you do,
don’t cry.”

(For #OpenLinkNight at http://dversepoets.com/ - come join the fun!)

Reckless Eyeballs

I learned early on
to keep my eyes
to myself:

a stare can be misinterpreted.

I don’t want to fight you.
I’m not trying to scare you.
I’m not trying to make you.

It’s just too reckless
any other way.

I know these rules,
so what is this drive
that compels me
to break this rule?

Something inside me
is looking in
your eyes
for reflection,
for approval,
for connection.

But in the split second
before that unknown
consequence
materializes,

I avert my eyes.

I just don’t want
to start something
that I can’t finish.

Lucky Lotto

"Of course, I’m playing.
The jackpot’s up
over 300 million dollars.

Only takes one ticket to win.

My numbers?
Well, I’ll tell you
five out of the six.

Ok, first is 9
because that’s how old I was
when my dad left my mom and
we had to go on welfare,
but that was good
because it made us all stronger,
so that’s why 9.

Next is 13
because that’s how old I was
when I finally
got up the courage
to tell the diocese
that the priest had been,
you know,
doing stuff to me and
they fired him,
or sent him away
or something.

The next two go together,
17 and 2.
I was 17 when I tracked down
my sister’s rapist
and beat his junk
into a bloody pulp
with my Louisville slugger,
and 2 is the number of
years probation I got.

And 25,
that’s how old my wife’s
going to be when
the baby comes out,
if everything goes
according to plan.

What?

No, I can’t tell you
my sixth lotto number.

I gotta keep a few secrets
for myself."

(Written for #OpenLinkNight at http://dversepoets.com/.)

Playwright Story (Prompt: ______ Story)

I wanted to be a playwright,

as I fancied myself a modest god

who would make these players

do my bidding,

live out my revenge fantasies.

I aimed for

verisimilitude,

the illusion that it was

just like real life.

I wrote scenes of dialogue

and action

and characters

who all sounded like me,

but as a sheltered 16 year old,

I didn’t have enough material

to work with.

I’d create scenes,

situations,

snappy patter,

but I could never write

a proper end of a play,

and they would each limp

to their eventual final curtain.

Three years and

five plays later

I gave it up,

and went back to writing

songs

poems

jokes

temporary literary ephemera,

and I still watch

with palpable envy

and awe

when a writer pulls it all together

and finishes the story.

Now,

when I write “poetry”

when I am done with an idea

it just ends,

and I go on

to the next thing

just like real life.

The Welcome Speech

Just sit there
you’re new here, so listen up

I don’t awaken easily
and I hate staying awake

if you must ask questions
make sure they’re well thought out

don’t waste my time
and keep your hands off my stuff

remember
there’s just two of us in this cell

and the guards
are down the hall and sometimes deaf

don’t ask why I’m here
and I won’t ask why you’re here

and when I get up
I get to use the toilet first

I’ve been here
longer than you’ve been alive

so don’t think
you’re the boss in here

in the other world
you might’ve been some badass

but in my world
you’re just the new fish

I’m holding back
more hate than you’ll ever feel

so don’t get in my way
and I’ll treat you more fair than most

and if you’re smart
don’t let me see you cry

I really hate
people who can still cry.