Make me choke my Chesapeake Bay oysters
Down a long narrow tube called onion
On a salty slab of rust
That juts out from the corner
Of a jagged table now suffering the load
Of my humongous belly,
Sliced from gill to gill
And forgetting the kind manners one usually exhibits
While out dining with guests
In a trendy restaurant
On the East side of town.
Hold my napkin tight to my lapel,
And caress these breasts
That light the night on fire
Through a venomous spray
Of narcotics and other banned substances
Hurled deep into the bowels
Of an East Van back alley entrance,
Identified by a single spotlight
Casting lurking shadows into my side glances
And smelling of stale urine
Upon the disposal bin filled with sour milk.
Knock knock, let me in.
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