persistent image

my college roommate, an observant guy who was on
the college swim team, once told me that all the
collegiate wrestlers
talked constantly about collegiate wrestlers' dicks,
the sizes, shapes, thicknesses, odd structural features,
that sort of thing.

my roommate never lied to me,
as far as i can tell,
about anything.

i cannot imagine he would have lied to
me about this: perhaps
he simply exaggerated -- but i
distinctly remember his assuring
me that he and the other swimmers didn't like to eat
at the same table with the wrestlers
because all the wrestlers talked about was wrestlers' dicks.

i am thinking about this now
because my thoughts drifted back to the old days
and my college roommate and things we talked about.
i know now that i was once in
love with him, but he was straight
and i didn't know i was gay and, well,
that's a long, unpleasant, rather pathetic story.
anyhow, that's not really the point.

the point is:
do collegiate wrestlers still sit down to dinner and talk about
the dicks of other collegiate wrestlers?
color of dick head, dickshaft bent to the left, dickshaft bent
to the right, thick as an arm, 10 inches long, that kind of thing.

some images are difficult to get out of my head.
collegiate wrestlers talking dick is one of them.


--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appears in my
book Museum Quality Orgasm, published by
Future Tense Books in 1996, and currently
out of print.)