“Slap my pussy,” she said,
as I kneeled above her,
staring down at her naked body.
I happily obliged her request
and later on, as I was about to fall asleep
I thought of all the other men out there.
men who made more money than me
men who had better jobs
and better cars
men who had wives
and men who owned homes
men who were nicer than me
smarter than me
funnier than me
better looking than me
tall men, short men, fat men, thin men,
muscular men who loved working out.
all kinds of men from all over the world
who went to bed that night
without having slapped a pussy…
and I felt good
and momentarily
everything seemed all right.
David Boski lives in Toronto. His poems have appeared in: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Horror Sleaze Trash, Under The Bleachers, Down in the Dirt, Beatnik Cowboy, Winamop, Ramingo’s Porch, Cactifur, North Of Oxford and elsewhere. His chapbook “Fist Fighting and Fornication” is out now and available through Holy&intoxicated Publications.
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