for Dorothy Parker
He pinched my tits
and grabbed my ass.
Should have known it wouldn’t last.
Hickory, dickory dock,
The boy sat on my cock.
Hard he road, till I shot my load,
Hickory dickory dock.
From 7p.m. to 9:30,
Like to watch young buffs
Get down and dirty.
I have never thought of you sexually.
I don't think I have ever given
a considerable amount of thought
to your sex. I want you to know
I have never thought of having sex
with you. I never developed a crush,
or had this ridiculous notion
of bringing you flowers,
or committing some other sappy act.
Never have I once thought of kissing
you or running my fingers through
your head of cute, black curls.
Oh, sorry. Sorry for calling your hair
cute. Slip of the tongue.
I didn't mean it. I want you to know
I have never pictured you with your shirt off.
You're my friend and I don't
have fantasies of my friends
with their shirts off.
Just so you know:
I don't wonder about the size of your cock.
Wondering if you're cut or uncut,
or if your balls hang high
is none of my business.
Let me just assure you
that I have never stared at your ass
while you walked.
Never have I had thoughts
of sucking your balls
or imagined you rolling
around naked in wet grass
wearing nothing but white tube socks.
Who in the hell would imagine
such imaginings? Not me, I assure you.
None of this has ever crossed my mind.
I've never thought of you fucking me.
I have never, ever had dreams
about your dick being in my ass
or my dick in your ass.
I don't think about my lips
around your dick, either
or your lips around my dick.
I know you don't want to hear
this, but it's true.
I have never thought of such things,
and I don't think I ever will.
Such thoughts do not run
through my head, baby.
Oh, sorry, my bad, didn't mean to call
you baby. It's not like I go around
calling guys baby. Especially you
of all people.
Just because I like my men bound and gagged,
rough around the edges, doesn't mean
I've thought of you that way.
I've eaten ice cream
off the asses of countless men,
but never, and I mean never,
have I thought of what it would be like
to eat butter pecan ice cream off your ass.
I've never imagined you pouring
hot candle wax on my genitals, either.
It's not you I think of when I'm
lying naked in bed with my cock in my hand.
You are not the one I think of when I come.
You are the last guy I think about.
I want you to know that.
I just want to clear that up.
I'm going back home
to freeload off my parents,
get a job in the mall at The Tilt,
giving quarters to teenagers
who smell like dirt and bubblegum.
I'm going to Borders
to spend hours reading magazines
I dream of writing for.
I'm gonna read poetry and wish I was back in New York
eating ramen noodles, dancing at Stonewall.
I'm going to suck off old men in parking lots.
Take two steps back with no life of my own
where someone is always home.
I'm headed back to Tallahassee
to get fat off thirty-five cent honeybuns.
My boxes are boxed,
the address has been changed
and all mail will be forwarded to Charlie Ash Lane.
I'm leaving soon for Tallahassee.
Everything has been shipped to my aunt's house in
Queens.
Gotta be out of my apartment by noon.
Bus leaves at one.
I will cry in Baltimore.
I'll be home soon.
Get myself a one bedroom apartment
on Tharpe Street, drink at the only gay bar in town,
and get a job I hate.
I'm here.
Shane Allison has been published in over sixty magazines and journals including online journals such as Gnome and The Doomed City. His first book, Black Fag, is now available from Future Tense Books.