my mother (a principal) calls it “going
wee-wee.” My father calls it “pishin,” no
doubt a vein of the farm his parents
once lived on. My worst ever baby-sitter,
Candy, who my spite is still coddled by
12 years later, called it “tinkling.”
But I have no pretensions, and
when it is against a dumpster outside the
Brooklyn Public Library, the only appropriate
phrase for what I am doing is “taking a piss.”
I’m not even drunk right now. Though it
is 4 a.m., and I did just force two
plain donuts down my groping gullet
(poor things, they didn’t even taste good).
But my eyes are not lusty, I do not
feel invincible (quite the opposite,
in fact), and I am not plagued by
breadloaf hiccups, so I am mostly sure
I am not drunk.
I hope no one catches me, out here,
with my wiener in my hand. At best,
my penis is usually a wiener. It is
rarely a cock. Right now, it is
definitely a wiener.
If I were stopped by the police
right now, could I rightfully
call that “getting busted,” or is
that phrase saved for buddy cop
movies and Law and Order?
If I were to be busted by the cops
right now, would the proximity of
my uncovered wiener to the public
library merit a sexual misdemeanor?
Even if I am 95 percent sure the
library is closed? Would it help
if I told them how disappointed
my parents would be? Or said,
“no way I’m a sexual predator-
some of my best friends are kids!”
Could I blame it on Miley Cyrus?
I feel constantly unimpressed with
how cold New York doesn’t get in
summer, despite the bi-weekly storm.
I always carry a jacket
in my bag just in case. And
because I like how I look in a jacket
more than not in a jacket. If I
were wearing a jacket right now,
it would probably help to cover my
wiener. But, because it is 80
degrees out, and not raining,
I would probably look more crazy.
The question of covering one’s
wiener or looking crazy is the
biggest issue America faces today.
Shout-out to Carlos Danger for making
a poem about dicks into a political statement,
even though I didn’t mean to.)
You know poetry has come a long way
when there are shout-outs in poems.
You don’t know in which direction.)
It would be so easy to mug me right
now. But, even a mugger may be
hesitant to approach someone in my
current position. If I were a mugger,
I would not choose the man with his
wiener in his hand if there were other
Who did you picture when I said
I have a library card and pay taxes,
so maybe I’m entitled to this.
Plus, it feels really good. Despite my
fear of getting caught or mugged.
I fear that nothing could possibly feel
better than this incredible release.
I fear that when I die, this will be
the only poem you remember.