ottoman
40ish
in levi’s 511’s
sit on ottoman
mash down its face
let it dry munch my ass
until i’m superior again
across room
young tan man sits indian-style on floor
slowly cuts out ominous letters
from tinfoil sheet
will eventually form words:
HAPPY B-DAY
next to him
conjugal birthday cake
naps on my bed
pulsates under slime-green frosting
reese’s pieces encrust its borders
breathes thru peanut butter slits
since 40
i no longer blow out candles
my cake blows out mine
ottoman’s fuzz
pricks my ass cheeks thru levi’s 511’s
i resolve this by trimming it
slather cushion with barbasol cream
shave off fur with gillette disposable razor
then sit on it to test out
rub my balls back-&-forth
against smooth undulating surface
for 1st time
ottoman refuses to dry munch
begins TICKING instead
i tear open pillow
pull out innards
comprised of terrible clock mechanisms
i’m appalled by annoying sound
only to notice my birthday cake
nasty & dripping
watching me
i then scoop out its entrails
find more TICKING
i step back
to impassive image of young tan man
still cutting out tinfoil letters
as if set on perpetual replay
I really like this poem James! :) love the imagery!