Me and my Foreskin by Ben John Smith

Sometimes I drive around town
with my dick in my hand.
Nothing perverted,
just outside my pants,
and smiling out the windscreen.
Giving it some air.
Because it gets lonely in dirty jeans
and he wants to see the world too.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s a strange thing to do,
but it doesn’t really matter
cause no one will ever see me
and I sure as shit
will never mention it
to anyone.

that night

I push the end,
the tip,
of my foreskin
into the opening
of my beer bottle.
Of course it’s a strange thing to do.
Especially when I take
my next sip.
Thinking,
my dick has been here.
Its skin
on the glass.
Like a bulldog on an ice cream.
My dick has been here.
It makes sense.
My mum won’t let me buy a mouse
because she says they smell bad.
And
D’Arne is pretending to be sick.
It doesn’t make sense.
Nothing makes sense.
That’s why I do these silly things,
and tell you all about them.

 

author of W.I.S.H.’s Praying Mantis

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Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

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