This Snotty Poem
This snotty poem is only somewhat
about sex.
Yours is solely about sex
and I have to say
(though I may be bitter with writer’s block
and unintentional celibacy)
that all that slurping and sucking
is only slightly sensual.
It’s too reminiscent of a dog
working that last elusive lick
of peanut butter from his rubber toy.
One paw is possessively over the middle,
and the tongue works busily in the hole
at the round cherry-red end.
It’s too reminiscent of a businessman
who skipped lunch, and now
he’s on the 5:21 commuter train to Poughkeepsie,
with a salami sandwich, not caring he forgot napkins,
absorbed, engrossed. Dressing slides down his chin,
onions stick out from his mouth, and still
he tears off another bite, ravenous.
People around him cannot look,
cannot stop themselves from craning to look.
Finished, sated, he slumps back against his seat.
Suddenly desirous of discretion,
he wipes his face on his hands, his hands
on the driest part of the wrapper.
He re-wipes his lips, crumples the paper,
turns to look out the window
as if he’d never been hungry.
Instead take a lesson from the cat
demurely watching out the window.
One stroke from neck to tail
brings her to her feet.
With the second, she arches her back
under your touch, curls her paws.
The thinner fur in front of her ears
is bristly against your fingers.
She leans into you till she almost falls.
You feel the firmness of her teeth
as she rubs the slightly damp
side of her mouth against your hand.
Again and again, you are marked, possessed.
Take a lesson from the Japanese restaurant–
the restraint, the single orchid
in an oiled wooden vase whose smoothness
invites your touch.
Bare fish flesh (not too warm, not too cold)
is laid out amongst bowls of salty (sweaty?) soy sauce.
Use your chopsticks to pinch
just a little off the mild green mound of wasabi.
The heat starts small in your mouth, shoots
out the top of your head, glows in the soles
of your feet, making you arch your back
and point your toes. ”No, no,”
you want to say. ”No, don’t stop.”
But you only smile at your dinner companion
and reach your chopsticks for another piece.
