~after reading “Thank You For Swallowing My Cum” by Bobby Parker
I tell whore dogs on the street, “Hey, I swallow your cum!”
I told the shy Chinese boy in the restaurant, “There is nothing
to fear, for I will swallow your cum!” I even told my father but he
twisted his wrist with a wrench, and then exposed himself
to my mother who had been making perfect sucking sounds,
like a doll that broke like the ghost of a cheap whore still
sucking and swallowing. While squatting to piss in the woods
on a humid morning, I smacked my cellulite ass and yawped,
“Hey fog, I swallow your cum!” but the fog rolled me over and my
three ex-fiancés hate me. Actually, I just learned that one
of them still loves me. (Hint. Hint.) I swallowed his cum all day long.
What’s on your mind? You feel OK? I can make you
a sandwich. Won’t you let me swallow your cum?
I should probably take “Hey universe! I swallow your cum!”
off as my FaceBook status. I don’t want to make my husband
worry that I would swallow some other man’s cum but,
I would. I ask for it. I’m hot and dirty and swallowing up all the cum
in the world. You got sum cum? I’m gonna swallow it.
I don’t eat; I just swallow cum. It is all I can do to survive.
I tell dogs, flour covered Chinese boys and my role model parents
and the haunted, backwoods blight fog and the ditch I crawled out of—
as an unbound and broken banshee—OH WOW!
If only I’d have known to keep swallowing and swallowing
and swallowing, I’d still be living. I’d still have to breathe…
Susan Yount is the Editor and Publisher of Arsenic Lobster; works fulltime at the Associated Press; teaches online poetry workshops at the Rooster Moans and is the founder of Misty Publications. In her spare (!) time she moonlights as madam for the Chicago Poetry Bordello. She has two poetry chapbooks, House on Fire, Blood Pudding Press, 2014 and Catastrophe Theory, Hyacinth Girl Press, 2012. She can be followed on Twitter at @SusanYount.