Two Poems

By Jon Doughboy

Marinara

I wore an n95 to the orgy but you never showed.
I sat in the corner, flaccid and cold, breathing in no germs,
listening to flesh pound flesh for forty full minutes.
Left the sweaty half-lit unknown dressed in a stranger’s suit.
Down the block I dragged my disappointments like so much excess baggage.

I bought a chicken parm on the way home and ate it in the street.
One fat drip of marinara stained the crotch of the stolen slacks.
I let it lie there, dry there, and in the morning the hardened
sauce looked like a face, human, but nothing like yours.

When I’m Lonely I Remember

Archeologists call ancient dildos “ice age batons.”
Women in the dark recesses of prehistory masturbated
under mounds of hides, beneath strange yet familiar skies.
Constellations of forgotten gods. Lost caverns of
timeless yearning. The rich stench of a species on the verge.
The tips are burnished smooth, evidence,
experts say, of frequent and loving use.

Jon Doughboy is a one-man band based in Sheboygan. Book him for your next bris, birthday, or mass suicide @doughboywrites