Wednesday, February 11, 2009

One Fart

The art of boozing isn’t hard to master;
so many bottles seem filled with my drink
(beer, any kind) that I become disaster.

Like Friday, I meet this guy they call Blaster.
Gross, right? He grabs my ass and I just wink.
The art of boozing isn’t hard to master.

He comes back to my place. We’re playing pastor
and alter boy. God I need a new shrink.
At least the night isn’t quite a disaster.

It’s getting hot and heavy. He goes faster
and I get so close I can’t even think.
The art of boozing is not hard to master.

But then, a stench!—My nose is so harassed or,
rather, burning, I lose it in a blink.
’Kay, now this night is a total disaster.

--He wants to keep going. He’s such a long laster,
but I’m done. I go puke in the sink.
The art of boozing’s not too hard to master,
though it can end in (Smell it!) in disaster.

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