twice that many

squash for dinner, and squash for lunch.
squash squash squash.
harbinger of autumn.
prelude to halloween.
taste buds awash in their softness, their delicate stringiness.
gentle fibres caressing tongue and
insides of cheeks and back of
soft pink throat. thus sits
the sexy gentle country boy in
his seat at the kitchen table
eating the squash that he
has prepared for himself
from his own garden
out behind the old house
in which he has sequestered himself
for the better part of a year.
dropped out of college.
dropped out of as much of life as possible.
lucky to have this house, and this land,
left to him by loving
grandmother in
her will at just about
the time he made the decision to
drop out of
college and drop out of life and, well,
drop out of just about everything for a while.
now,
sitting at his little table all alone
eating a variety of squash for dinner,
he
considers
decisions he's made,
decisions he's about to make,
decisions he'll never make because
he's just so
entrenched here,
all alone,
as
he rises from the table,
the sexy gentle country boy is naked
as usual,
he spends as much time as
possible naked,
he's really quite beautiful,
tousled blond hair and
tanned all over
and lean muscles under tight
skin
his big thick dick
hanging over his nice set of balls.
he goes to the sink
and washes the plate and
the pans he used to prepare
the squash.
there is squash
skin on the countertops,
squash skin at the edge of the sink.
the squash skin is knobby and multi-colored.
he likes the way it
just lies there
and
waits for him to
do something about it,
which he most certainly will,
when the spirit moves him,
when the time just seems
right.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in 2018. The poem first appeared in Carnival Magazine, Volume 1, January 2012.)