by Melanie Burke Zetzer
Your dick was so fine.
Your dick was circumcised.
Your dick was a gun without a holster.
Your dick had a Star of David painted on the end.
Your dick was Jewish.
Your dick was a fine old luxury car
surrounded by today’s subcompacts.
Your dick was a collector’s item.
Your dick was an Edsel.
I brushed your dick off my teeth this morning
puckering as I tasted your lemon.
I spit your dick down my drain
frothy and white with my toothpaste.
I washed your dick off the insides off my thighs.
Your dick was still sticky in my jeans.
Your dick was on my hand towel in my bathroom.
Your dick was on my bathroom rug.
I spent all my quarters for laundry money
just trying to wash away your dick.
I tried to replace your dick on my clit.
I licked my fingers while masturbating,
and I still tasted you guessed it
I douched and then your dick tasted like vinegar on my fingers.
I washed and washed my hands
trying to wash away the smell of your dick.
I will not be making meatloaf tonight.
Your dick is shaped like my Christmas tree
thick at the bottom with a star on the top.
I decorated your dick with Christmas balls.
What do I need with penis envy?
everything in my house is your dick.
Your dick is my neighbor
I only say hi to on odd occasions.
Your dick left my building without telling me.
Your dick still owes me rent.
Your goddamned dick.
Your dick was crafty your dick knew my score.
Your dick wasn't a virgin.
Your dick was the key to my backdoor.
Your goddamned dick.
©2003 by Melanie Burke Zetzer
Melanie Burke Zetzer is originally from Louisiana, but is currently happily nestled into the wooded and scenic hills of Hot Springs, Arkansas, in a rustic cabin with her teenage son and her new puppy Scrappy Doo. She is a home health care nurse and is attending UALR college part time, where she enjoys their excellent Creative Writing program. When she is not working to pay the bills, chasing teenagers, dogs, and paperwork, she and her son like to rough it, camping, fishing, hiking, and looking for crystals in the nearby Caney Creek Wilderness Area. Melanie writes because she has to, and because she wants to, and because she can, and will continue to do so until the ink in her pen runs dry.