thread

from the steering wheel dangled the lips
of a dead dog. the lips were beef-jerky
in texture, and they dangled at the end of a string.
**
the driver of the car was a sexy naked young
man, with a big scar on the outer thigh
of his right leg. his big dick was
hard as a rock as he drove the
car into his driveway, and climbed
out onto the hot pavement, at just about
midnight.
**
he didn't act like he cared one way
or the other if anyone saw
see him in all his big-dicked
nakedness as he climbed
out the car.  quite
matter-of-factly, he unlocked
the front door to his house
and walked inside. he
gently closed the door behind him.
**
the interior of the house
was immaculate. tidy clean.
no dust. he walked around
in there wagging his big
hard dick and exploring
the texture of the scar
on his thigh with
the fingertips of his
right hand.
**
standing
naked in front of the refrigerator,
he dreamed of
fixing himself a big thick
steak, but settled
on a tub of cottage cheese,
instead.
**
the dog lips that dangled
from the steering wheel
he had removed
from a dead dog that
he'd found lying beside
a back-country road
a few weeks ago. they
had mummified nicely,
and, now, just when
he wanted to eat
cottage cheese and jerk himself
off, he could hear those damn
rubbery dog lips telling
him to put on his pajamas
and just go to bed and
go directly to sleep.
he flew into a rage
and tossed the
tub of cottage cheese
up against the kitchen
wall.  he spent the
rest of the night
cleaning the kitchen,
so that, by morning,
it was even more immaculate
than it had started out.
**
standing in the shower,
his big dick hard and throbbing,
he resisted the urge
to jerk off, and
told himself, once again,
that those goddamn dog lips,
just had
to go.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)