portrait of the poem as a prompt for a super bowl condom commercial [Poem] by Ben Newell


Just a quickie,
I thought.

To deflate my morning wood
and be free of her,
opening up the rest of my day
for creation.

But quickie
turned out to be anything but;
like a fool
I pulled out and squirted
jolly jam
on her blouse.

She demanded one of my shirts
while hers
went in the wash;
we sat there and talked
and drank coffee
and smoked cigarettes
as the machine went through
its sudsy cycles.

Then I placed her blouse
in the dryer,
this followed by more talking
and coffee and cigarettes.

The buzzer finally sounded,
so I got up,
opened the hatch,
pulled out her blouse
and handed it to her—

“There,” I said, “all clean;
not a trace of my DNA . . .”

she took off my shirt,
put on her blouse
and left my apt.,
left me to write two poems
which could’ve easily
been three or four
had I worn a raincoat.

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