Sunday, April 03, 2011

NaPoWriMo, Day Three, Poem Three

G-String Theory

What to do when
the strippers
turned waitresses
and feminsts
turned porn fans
state the same mantra:
Pussy sells.

To eyes grafted on breasts
you're forever left out
as a partner in mind
or even an entrepreneur
in your own right.

Complaining about
the hilt jutting from
your back is another
phallus to fun at,
another arc to their act.

Nothing left but to
go back to the ATM
and draw bills.
They don't accept
charges less than
twenty dollars
and don't have loose
bills to make change.

Their lapdance is
getting up from chairs
over and over
for your tribute.
It's easier to buy
their respect
when you never had it.

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