The Condom

by John Milbury-Steen

Was putting on a condom and my hand
slipped. The condom like a rubber band
stung my erection ouch! hey! on the head
and shot like a nimble lover under the bed.
The shock broke up my mood of in the mood.
I hate a condom with an attitude!

Excuse me a second. Keep doing that. You're hot.
So I just knelt and swept a strong flashlight
and found it right away, the little twit.
Stuck to the lubricant upon the tit
(this condom was the tit end type) was quite
a goodly gob, a wad, a tuft, a knot

of dust, all bristly reinforced with hair.
(And I'll be with you right away, my dear.)
Dust, you are my rival on the floor
under the bed. And you just stay down there.
You may not enter with me, though I fear,
after me…. But that's not my affair.

You are not welcome into a private spasm
to ride desire as the dark's dry jism.

© 2007 by John Milbury-Steen
 


About the Author

John Milbury-Steen served in the Peace Corps in Liberia, West Africa, worked as an artificial intelligence programmer in Computer Based Education, and currently teaches English as a Second Language at Temple University. He has published in The Beloit Poetry Journal, Hellas, Blue Unicorn, Kayak, The Listening Eye, The Neovictorian/Cochlea, The Piedmont Literary Review, Scholia Satyrica and Shenandoah. His poetry website is:
http://a6.home.att.net.

 
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