Monday, September 8, 2008

poetry hour

hey y'all
this is my first try at serious poetry in a long time, so take it easy on me. it's a theme i've dealt with before as well.

Naked Goat Farmer

Possibly never in history
has there been a human so adroit
at bringing the conversation
boomerang-whip back to
hanging out naked.

It was a Yahoo! messenger
conversation with a farmer
I was meant to work for
in West Cork.

I'd ask for dates.
He'd ask if I knew about naturalism.

I'd ask for daily responsibilities on the farm.
He'd say that there's a well-secluded sauna.

Thinking myself clever, I asked
if he played chess.
No, but I'll play you
and the loser has to-
(wait for it)-
milk the goats in the buff.

I was writing about the organic movement
and since nothing is more organic
than a grown man's dirty balls,
I said

On the agreed upon day he picked me up
in town.
His pants fit funny and were hiked too high,
but why bother trying on pant after pant
if you're just going to throw them off.

His shirt was tucked too tight,
but then again, tight things are
easier to full-fistedly rip
off one's back.

I'm somewhat disappointed to report that
he remained remarkably clothed
for the entire duration
of the ride home.

I digress to remember a scene
in the classic movie Airplane!,
when the pilot asks the little boy,
'Joey, have you ever seen a grown man naked?'

Joey, not only have I been to
that brink, I've gone beyond.

My naked man had hips
like a woman,
a slightly concave chest,
and the bush of a wildman.

That night I tried to appease him
by splitting a Bailey's
in my underwear,
while he, naked, crossed
his legs tightly,
possibly against the laws of
physics, I could see for myself.

At bed time I locked the door.
Then I checked it.
And then I did that thing where
you open the door, and then lock it,
and then check from the other side
to make sure it's really locked.

And then I was locked out

Slightly drunk on Irish liqueur
I went outside to climb through my window
but the window was locked
and trying the front door...
now I was double locked out.

Leaving me feeling
double naked.

And it was kind of cold out
and even though naturalism
isn't about "size," well,
you always want to put on a
good showing,

you know.

Worse than the nudity
or my 'I was in the pool!' moment
was feeling horrible
about waking up my new host,
because sometimes when you
wake someone up
they have a hard-on like
the flag pole at the White House
and maybe he also had to get up early
the next morning
to go to the market
or something.

With the innate humility
of a mid-transition transsexual
I rang the door bell.


A light goes on in the back of the house.
The moonlight casts the shadow
of a man
behind the shades.
A rusty key turns.
The slow shifting of lock gears.
And the door flies open!
As if taken by the wind!

There stands the Naked Goat Man
in slippers,
a plush (is that goose down?) bathrobe and,
you won't believe me but it's true,
even a night cap.

'It's bloody freezing out,'
he admonished me.
'Get some damn clothes on.'

1 comment:

Angela James said...

adorable. loved it. oh naked goat man. oh naked jesse. what a pair.