My Fake Vagina By Brian Rosenberger

In my younger years, I worked at a college bookstore,

In shipping and receiving on the 2nd floor of the building.

It suited me fine. I worked mostly alone, didn’t have to deal

With my coworkers, mostly 20-something college students 

Except for the older owners in a family-owned business.

I listened to AM news and CDs of my choosing.

Boxes of books could weigh 50+ lbs.

I was 20-something and could handle it.

I could bench-press the book weight, sexism, racism, 

Marital affairs, and in-house bullies with little effort. 

I did say it was a family-owned business, right?

I always figured I could take the owner, his wife, his dad

In a fist-fight if needed. Their kids too.

One morning, I delivered the discarded cardboard 

To the dumpster in our parking lot.

There I discovered the artificial vagina.

The dumpster was empty except for the rubber pussy.

It had become a shrine, some holy place overnight.

It may have glowed. Writer’s embellishment.

The object was smaller than a basketball. Still magical.

Abandoned, unloved, and unwanted.

Maybe, not unwanted.

It was hairless, flawless. Immaculate.

I took the pussy home.

Washed it. Loved it. Fucked it.

Repeatedly.

There’s your Happy Ending.

Brian Rosenberger lives in a cellar in Marietta, GA and writes by the light of captured fireflies. He is the author of As the Worm Turns and three poetry collections - Poems That Go Splat, And For My Next Trick..., and Scream for Me.