Mona was a virgin—
or at least that’s
what she told me—
& inside the Lake Erie Pub,
where the brightness
& beauty of the outside world
was lost in a charcoal film drawing
of cigarette smoke &
vulturous stares, she
asked me ‘bout men
& sex.
Mona’s parents were old—
older than my grandparents.
They treated her like an
antique doll.
She was spoiled & kept
insulated from the
base desires of humans,
of men.
So I broke the doll-case
w/ a hammer, ordered
my 4th beer, & said:
“Well, sex for men is—
You know Jack Kerouac’s ol pal,
Neal Cassady? Well, picture
Neal as a used car salesman & he’s
gotta, just gotta, make this sale.
Cause, you see, his wife is at
home hungry, his kids are
hungry, & he’s throwin’ out
all his tricks to get a bite
& the customer is on the fence,
so Neal is pushin’ & pushin’
to make the sale.
He’s sweatin’.
This is all he can think
about. So much depends
on this moment.
And, finally, when the customer
says ‘Yes’, there’s a celebration
in his soul—
A parade of happiness
in his thoughts.
Does that help you?”
“Um, well, a little. I suppose.”
“Ok. Uh, one more beer, please. Have you
ever seen the Star Trek episode, Amok Time
where Spock flips-out cause he hasn’t
had any tail for 7 years…”