Monday, August 4, 2014

The Bride

The walls in the back room of the billiards club
are decorated with trompe l'oeil bookshelves
and cork dart boards. A chess set sits between
leather wing-back chairs. Splayed with her legs spread
on one of the beige billiards tables
is a cheap blow-up doll designed to look
like a girl from an anime cartoon. It resembles
a pool toy; her features are painted on
rather than molded in three dimensions. Her breasts
are perfectly round and lack nipples. Her sides, oddly,
are transparent, so you can see right through her torso,
can see the tunnel that connects
her clumsily-molded rubber vagina
to the plastic pucker of her anus.
Filled to the brim, the men finally tire
of taking gag photos of the future groom
fondling and pretending to mount her,
finally run out of ideas of things to insert into
her orifices; pool cues, chess pieces
-in retrospect, the dart was probably a mistake-
and stampede bellowing out into the night
in search of a place to howl at flesh and blood girls.
Now she can rest, her enormous shining eyes
staring at the ceiling as she slowly shrivels,
wondering if her men are ever coming back;
afraid that they will, more afraid they won't.

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