This poem is rated R

by on May 6, 2022 :: 0 comments

I surely will find
the steamy answer
in a pharmacy paperback
or a life hack from one of
Oprah’s guru guests
and I am sure
somebody pickpocketed
my broken heart
and donated it to
the thrift shop
because I saw one
of my ripped regrets
in a customer’s cart
and I could be
somebody’s grandfather
while mine was a dapper
Costa Rican man
who spoke broken english
while I twist my mother tongue
give it an overbite
like a cubist dentist
and I don’t aspire to
be this century’s innovator
I just want to be
some special woman’s
to a vibrator

editors note:

With a lifetime supply of batteries. – mh clay

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