Boner poem
Our relationship was becoming a garden.
By the end of summer everything was wilting
and I wanted to set it ablaze. She kept on telling
me about the pleasure she would get from squinting
at the sun and how it would become a sparkler
and I just wanted her to shut up.
I told her about this sad Stuart Dybek story, about this
character who lost his left arm, and he wondered if he were to have
a heart attack if he would be forewarned. I thought she would
agree, but then she asked "Who is Stuart Dybek"? Then I thought
about if I were to become a eunuch would I still have that feeling
of morning wood?
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