that's him alright

he's young & good-looking &
he knows the pure hot sex-joy of
playing with his own
big dick all alone.
he's good at it, too.
he's mastered all
the techniques --
prolonging, delaying,
teasing, then, well,
just letting nature takes its
big, wet, gooey, sloppy course.
and, during those 10, 20,
30 busy-fingered minutes,
he is the happiest
boy in the world.  but then,
after that, it's time to get
busy on that list of chores:
take out the trash, mow the
lawn, weed the flower bed next
to the back door -- none of which is
much fun at all, especially
when he compares 'em to, well,
you know,
playing with his
dick, and then having an orgasm.
the truth is:
he compares everything
he does to having an
orgasm; and then
he compares
one orgasm to the
next orgasm. he's
not single-minded,
exactly, but let's
just say
his days are pretty well
planned.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Riot Act, published by Chiron Review Press in 2010. The poem  was first published in online Zygote in my Coffee, issue #65, July 3, 2006.)