the pueterican from brooklyn

we sit on a fountain edge
saying fuck it to nyc
then he takes me to a bench
and feeds me turkey and american
with a little bit of white
a terrible sponge if there was one
and mouthful of tequila
no worm at the end tho

we go back to his apartment
a bed and a tv and a window
he kisses and pulls up my shirt
i smell the scent of south america

we fall on his bed
my pants below my knees
i feel him hard and ready to go
he takes it out and presses hard
and i begin to cry

i lay in his arms now
he strokes my har and says it will be ok
i miss toledo and i miss her face
and when i leave i throw a banana away


About Michael Medlen

My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.
This entry was posted in Art, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s