great old parchment paper with nice flowers

Anonymous Sex Poems

Meghan Deponceau, contributor

Anonymous Sex

Is good

Because

when you only sleep around casually,

with strangers,

you don’t care what they think

of all the crumbs on your bed.

 

Show Me on the Doll

Where you want me to touch you

Because you doll collection is creepy

and if we start having sex

I won’t have to look at it

 

Stuffed

I’ve loved every man who has ever been inside me

While he was inside me.

To be fair,

Filling outside of the doughnut

Filling, just sitting there, isn’t as appetizing.

 

Bad Spelling

When I was a kid,

I’d draw a smile last on the hangman.

It creeped my parents out.

 

My gravestone will read:

“Sorry to all the rocks harmed

In the making of this tombstone”

 

Reunion

The hotel charged my credit card,

for your who knows what kind of fuck fuck fuckery

Your lack of conscious and photographic memory

Has me on the telephone

With a desk clerk somewhere in Canada

And I’m not even mad

I vomit up predictably, “How’d he look?”

 

I Woke Up on the Floor in Cleveland

Fully dressed

Not one article of clothing belonged to me.

Hungover, I panhandled the $16 for a bus ride home

And if I never find out how I got to Cleveland that night

I will die happy.

 

Learning to Compromise

Three different roommates

Three different types of milk in the fridge,

All expired.  

 

I AM ON THE BUS

I am on the city bus. I am on this bus because I am leaving somewhere and going somewhere else, but this part does not matter. The only part that matters is that I am on the bus.

To my left there is a man draped in found clothing making a selection from his plastic bag collection of cassettes to insert in his Walkman. He is a renowned antique collector.

 

Near the back is a gaunt woman with six hypodermic needles gouged into her flesh. They are filled with happiness, yet she is tethering her own noose. She turns to the man next to her, who is in a very heated argument with his own window reflection, that he keeps calling Elvis. Elvis doesn’t seem to have any of the right answers today and this makes him remarkably sad.  The empty woman asked the double-occupied man for a dollar, but he had none to spare, so the noose has a new neck it shall be wrapped around.

 

The bus screeches to an authoritative halt. Our fearless leader, the driver, has died of a heart attack. The EMTs shuffle him off and pour water on his seat until a new one sprouts up out of the worn cushion. Not one other person on the bus noticed this except the missionary sitting under the box of schedules, screaming hymns to the sky to pray for his lost soul. The faceless missionary hands the new driver a bible as he skips off the steps at the next stop.

 

My book grows jealous of my attentions paid to the spiky haired teenager in front of me. He is clapping his hands and singing a song no one has ever heard, as if his single objective in life was to change that.  His audience is distracted by the fact that they do not care.

 

I feel a tap on my back and a man with three teeth, no… now two, tells me he likes my hair. He inquires if he can have it as he picks up a third of his dental records off the floor. This all would wear on most sane people, but my constant smile has not been flipped since 95’.

 

At the next stop an elderly woman gets on the bus with only seventy-eight cents to her name and hopes the kindest of strangers will generate the remaining balance. It doesn’t.  The young girl sniffing glue next to me asks me if I want any. I drift off in a thought about how we should just park this vehicle in a suburban mall parking lot and sell tickets to peer through the windows.

 

There is a homely couple in the very back making animal noises and taking each other’s clothing off. He prematurely ejaculates, she hits him and the buff guy next to them licks it up because he forgot his protein shake this morning.  The next stop is a grocery store and 57 people waddle on, six of which sit right on top of me. A homeless man cuts off his legs so he can fit himself and his garbage bags filled with the commodity of his profession.

 

My stop is approaching so I ask the little boy at the top to pull the cord for me, but he bites it in half with his teeth and eats most of it for dinner.

 

This is the club I belong to.

About Savage Henry

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