I was sitting at a bar having dinner by myself the other night (which now that I'm over 30, have no shame about doing and actually rather enjoy) and the two girls next to me were venting about the men in their lives. One girl asked her friend to hold on to her phone until they left the bar so she couldn't text her boyfriend. "I'm going to want it back after I have a few drinks, but DON'T LISTEN TO ME, no matter what," she instructed her friend. "I am not texting him until he apologizes."
In honor of those two girls, and girls struggling with men everywhere, I offer this untitled poem by D.A. Powell.
dogs and boys can treat you like trash. and dogs do love trash
to nuzzle their muzzles. they slather with tongues that smell like their nuts
but the boys are fickle when they lick you. they stick you with twigs
and roll you over like roaches. then off with another: those sluts
with their asses so tight you couldn't get them to budge for a turd
so unlike dogs: who will turn in a circle showing & showing you their butts
a dog on a leash: a friend in the world. he'll crawl into bed on all fours
and curl up at your toes. he'll give you his nose. he'll slobber on cuts
a dog is not fragile; he's fixed. but a boy: cannot give you his love
he closes his eyes to your kisses. he hisses. a boy is a putz
with a sponge for a brain. and a mop for a heart: he'll soak up your love
if you let him and leave you as dry as a cork. he'll punch out your guts
when a boy goes away: to another boy's arms. what else can you do
but lie down with the dogs. with the hounds and the curs. with the mutts
R.I.P. Diesel, who passed away on 3/28/2012
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