On the Spot

Today is like you think
you’re in a nightmare
where you’re sitting
waiting naked on a stool
for your urologist to come

and check your junk
and as you fret you grab
a cigarette and some great
lunk walks in with shearing
scissors, leering like

unfathomable sin, derisively
uproariously laughing
at the spectacle of you
in spectacles, all shameful
pink and shrinking where

you do not want to shrink.
Today is like you think
you’re in a nightmare,
but you’re not. Today
you’re on the spot.




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