Poem – Balls

Gram! Don’t look at my balls!
I was drunk.
Just a few minutes before,
my drunk self took me to my
old bedroom to put on my gift.
Which was a cold water wetsuit for kayaking.
Fuckers are stretchy and real tight.
Once I had that bastard on, including the headgear,
I pranced toward the bar, where everyone was,
with their drinks and their cheer.
Gram! Don’t look at my balls!
It was snowing outside.
I remember laying in the snow, feeling nothing,
It was fucking good. To lay and feel nothing.
Eventually I came back inside.
My family accepted my balls as myself.
And Big Al wanted to have another shot.
And we did.

-M. Taggart

 

poem

Daddy wanted beer bad
Mom parked in the wrong parking lot
On purpose
Daddy said he scrapped his balls on the guard rail
Daddy said it was worth it
And that the Fourth of July is for only
If you are alive

M. Taggart

Sent from my iPhone