Janus In A Dinner Jacket
By Old Jack Is Back
- 728 reads
Janus In A Dinner Jacket
As the crowd counted down, I stood
at the urinal, with my head
pressed against cold tiles, while moments
before, sweaty hand full of tit
and mouth full of tongue and fingers
ensnared by knicker elastic,
I had hoped to greet the coming
year by coming myself, balls deep
in my manager’s better half.
I walked back to the bar and found
my beer glass with a cigarette
butt and an errant blue streamer
floating in its frothy dregs. Time
continued to strut its funky
stuff as the Mission Belles belted
out Auld Lang Syne to a glam rock
beat and I watched the drummer’s boobs
bounce beneath her sequined tank top.
Janus in a dinner jacket
and dicky bow propelled me through
a portal into the solstice
starlit street, where my breath streamed like
mentholated smoke beneath stars
that failed to resemble a host
of mythical beasts. His curses
drove me homewards, as my career
burned less brightly than fallen Troy.
I awoke with my face and dick
both equally stiff: with blue balls
and bluer bruises, with the taste
of beer on my tongue and fanny
under my fingernails. New Year
dawned after dinner time: after
a bacon sandwich, black coffee
and a belch on the brink of Death’s
foul border. Better out than in.
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Comments
career burned less brightly
career burned less brightly than fallen Troy. Wonderful sights, sounds of a less familiair beast.
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You do this Brit-Bukowski
You do this Brit-Bukowski style very effectively. The imagery packs quite a punch.
Thanks for reading. I am grateful for your time.
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