Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Classy


The bar had no restroom signs
Anywhere to be seen
There were just a couple of unmarked doors
Down a dirty corridor
One had two doorknockers on it
At chest height
The other had two baseballs
Embedded just below the waist.

It actually took me a couple of minutes to work it out.

The doorknockers were slightly uneven
Suggestive of the real woman perhaps?
As opposed to the ludicrous
Fabricated porn star ideal
But lets acknowledge
That the real woman
Includes the grotesque
Just as much as the one
Born of monstrous fantasy

And the real man
May indeed have baseball balls
That’s not to say,
Huge and hard and powerful,
But rather:
Fetishized homoerotic objects
Of childish hierarchy-setting
Game play
That should be hit with bits of wood.

Two pints later I paid another visit
And found a girl
Pondering the riddle of the doors
I chose the balls
And as the door closed behind me
I heard her laughing
And calling to her friends

After I’d finished
I went outside and found the girl
And two others, still laughing
Taking pictures of the doors
With their super smart phones
Bouncing the balls and knockers
Off Satellites in space and into
The lives of other friends
Boyfriends
And beyond

Before E-harmony there was Pee-harmony

I went back to my seat
Wondering how many couples had met
Trying to find the restrooms
Tipsy and unable
To decipher the door symbols
And if any of them were still together
Married
With kids
Living happily in the suburbs
Their young daughters growing up
Polishing their knockers
Against the carnival buffers
Of our culture
Their young boys growing up
Playing with their balls
Struggling to comprehend
(in strong silence)
What it’s supposed to mean
To be a man.

I'm sure future generations
Will look back on us with pity
And reclassify our civilization
As only semi-intelligent

And not because of knockers
And balls on a door
But because we are dissatisfied
And are always wanting more
Stretched out too tight
Like a violin string
Snapping in the middle
Of the infinite concerto
Unable to enjoy
The chorus
Or the silence
The choir of man
Barking
Whimpering
Half mad and full mad
Growing hair
Shaving hair
Master of electricity
Slave to any easy delusion
Stuck between animal and immortal
Our brains squirming like Proteus
The minor Grecian Sea God
Who possessed the power of prophecy
But always assumed different shapes
To avoid answering questions

Proteus, our savior
Take the signs off
All the doors
Let us step back in confusion
For a moment
Into animal simplicity
And lose ourselves in the truth
Of Species-hood
Free from the mean narcotic
Of individuality.



Later
I would drink more
Insult people in my mind
Lose my keys
Then laugh with friends
Spill red wine on my shoes
And drool in my sleep
Classy.


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