taking credit for sunday

monsters rise up out of the ocean and attack
the land. then, as if thinking they have done
something good, they wait to be patted
on the head by sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys.
then, in addition, they roll onto their sides
and offer their assholes to be fucked
by the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys who
now have full raging hardons. what
sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy, and in
that state of arousal, could resist
that kind of offer? and so,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
pat the monsters on the head
and fuck them up the ass. then,
they roll apart, these freshly-fucked
head-patted monsters and
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
who have just head-patted them and butt-fucked them,
and the monsters slink back into
the sea, once again, thinking they have done
something good. then the sexy naked big-dicked
teenage boys lie there alone on the sand,
staring up at the sky, worshipping faith and
hope, and craving the meaning of charity.
when the time arrives
for the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
to spurt another load of
cum, the
warning sirens go off and everyone
starts milling about.  there is
high anxiety on the beach. nothing
seems certain. and it is
only the very lucky, who
bend over, wait, and
grab ahold of
their own ankles, as
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
roam about, making difficult,
though well-reasoned, choices.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in BareBack Magazine, the January 2014 issue.)