I Like to Fuck

 

Risk wasn’t optional

Too much at stake!

Fierce competition unrelenting

 

My melodic over-melodramatic slam team kin

Had grave concerns about my ability

to milk judges’ intuitive teats for creamy score

Especially how I do it

 

For handicapped me, Prince of Stumps with hand to paper

They brought in the toughest slam coach in the business

Strapping, Hannibal: Personal Poetry Trainer

 

“What are you spitting?” paced Hannibal

Looking me up and gawking me down

“You’re entering a poetry minefield out there!

Poetical bombs will explode around you!

Without killer material and proper mental stamina (or PMS)

You’re gonna’ DIE before you finish the first stanza!”

 

I suggested papers and shuffled my opening favorite titled

“I Like to Fuck”

 

Throwing his clipboard against the wall

Hannibal wolf-wailed

“Here’s the DEAL, Sister Dooley

Lay off the vino—you’re in training!

Flush the butts

Do you know what a goddam diaphragm is?

 

I admitted, yes

Once, Ex-Wife crammed hers in my mouth on the way home from a bar

Because I refused to screw and drive drunken car simultaneously

 

“NOT THAT DIAPHRAM YOU PROSEY PIECE OF POO!

HERE! (thump chest) WHERE THE POETRY COMES FROM!”

 

 

I thought poetry came from drinking wine and smoking cigarettes

Chewing on vile rubbery memory of Ex-Diaphram?

 

“NO! NO! NO!”

 

“And you’re not going into high-octane competition with a poem about 

How you like to fuck!

Everybody likes to fuck!

Everybody shits and eats

And everybody came from some fucked up abusive family!

Everybody hates hangnails, starvation, senseless wars and baby death too

NOBODY wants to hear about it downtown having a good poetry time!”

 

But I’ve got a new take on it

I don’t just thesaurusize a list of obvious advantages!

 

“Great Jumping Taylor Mali on a purple pogo stick!

Remove your ass-hat and get with the program!

There are POINTS to be had here

Prize money to win

Don’t dare diminish my resume!”

 

How about this one, offers I

Called, “Slam Poet I Can See Your Hiney When You Wiggle Your Fingers and Prancy-Pants Around Like Hip Hop Speed Readers and Rhyme ‘New’ With ‘Gnu’ and Pronounce It That Way Because You’re a Douche

 

It’s about choosing not to write about poets, who write about not writing about other poets, then satirizes their false inflections and Bugs Bunny dance moves designed to simulate vertical copulation

 

Frowning down, Hannibal tapped his foot impatiently

“Memorize it!

Wave your arms a lot

Thrust out your pelvis and GYRATE

Shed a tear! Yell at the top of your lungs, speak in tongues, 

Until your pitiful uvula flaps out your teeth like a pink-skinned salamander!

I want all the mock integrity you can muster mister!”

 

“This isn’t just for your EGO

It’s for this TOWN

It’s for the TEAM

It’s for my 10%”

 

Hannibal softened then, began to rub my shoulders

“We’re going to walk in there like ROYALTY

You are a poetry GOD”

 

Then he took out my penis 

Held it in his hands and kissed it fondly, whispering gently

 

“By the way, there’s a group piece I’d like you to work on with your team mates

Where you skip like an elf, sing falsetto, and patty-cake each others’ tits.”

 

“Can you Choo-Choo for me?”

 
DogJohn Dooley