URINAL
Like it always is with fags
I say this fix is my last,
This is my final
Seminal time at the urinal.
I must no longer be
Addicted
To the predictable-
The dream engorged pricks
Of the same sex afflicted;
A million engorged inches
Waved in gleeful defiance
Of risk or surveillance;
Dry lips being licked
To refresh
The whetted beckoning.
By my shifty reckoning
I’m up for it, on
For a slick blow and go.
I’d bet my straight life
The punter’s a swallower.
Damn. Damn. I slam
The fuck cubicle shut-
His heavy fingering still
Stinging up my grateful
Butt, my white bolt shot.
The briefest bliss, then this-
She’s waiting, the wife
And a great son of five,
Both blind to my self-hating.
I’ve made them late for
.....The swings
.....The slide
.....The wide open space
Where it’s never safe
For a man’s lies to hide.
As I wave unwashed hands
At their familiar cameo
I get whiffs of opiate
Cock fun with a Mr So’n’so.
© CHRIS MADOCH 2007