Your Penis

Part of my painfully bad junior high/high school poetry notebook.  Which everyone has and pulls out instead of prepping for the holidays, right? This is the last one for the night, bad grammar on top of bad poetry.  I thought I’d end on a humorous note.

Your Penis

I didn’t worry about this

when we first met

you were six feet tall

170 pounds

everything seemed normal

physically at least

We’ll discuss mentally some other time

so what if I never saw a bluge in your pants

or felt you when we were close together

I figured maybe your underwear were just too tight

or we weren’t close enough

but then I saw you naked

and it’s not like I expected something to unravel to your ankles

or for you to be the width of a blow dryer

but I at least expected a magic marker

or a dill pickle

what I got was a cocktail weenie

the condoms I bought will never fit, I thought

maybe I should cut the fingers off rubber gloves

but you brought your own

where did you find them

a new-age pet supply store?

I can just see the advertisement

“protect our chihuahuas”

so I’ve learned to masterbate in the bathroom later

and to never ask

“Is it in yet?”

because, to be honest,

I never really know

I still love you, I promise

but isn’t there a surgery for this?


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