A Day for a Lay
“After the off—
horse riderless
and jockey tossed”
—Carol Ann Duffy
“Kipling,” Answering Back:
Living Poets Reply to the
Poetry of the Past
Well, my dear—it was quite a day
A nice day for a lay—a nice Spring day
A day full of that—exquisite skanky smell
Like a locker-room—full of young male decay
There’s nothing quite like it—coming back
From lunch, turning the corner—and then
On the steps—there he was standing alone
Like some lost Angel—from the Acropolis
Naturally I glanced—at how it enhanced
The day—how his white T-shirt outlined
What was to come—the story of his forceful
Torso and snug bluejeans—divulging what
The day already knew—it was a perfect day
For a lay—and as I got closer I heard the
Lovely Spring day say—Look, look my dear!!!
Look at his huge inviting crotch—that bulge!!!
Naturally days like that—days that are days
Days that are days for lays—so naturally gay
Make me weak in the knees—so that by the
Time I got to the stoop—I was stooping too
Bent over with weak knees—I felt sick but
Still had the strength to—ask him coyly
“Would you like to—come up to my room?”
And then with that husky—sultry voice that
Young men sometimes have—“Okay…”
Our eyes meeting—in that familiar way
That stays for awhile—while each ponders
The other over a beer—letting the day be
The kind of day—that’s good for a lay
Telling me his story—living next door
Half Polish, half Irish—the youngest son
From Kansas—unemployed, eighteen…
Putting down his beer—stretching
Yawning like a cat—spreading his legs
The afternoon light—of that day of days
Striking just right—the Greek torso of the
Gods—flexing his biceps just for me to see
If I was indeed in need of him—as much
As he needed me—his smile drooping to
A sullen pout—I couldn’t believe my luck
What a day I said to myself—running my
Hand up the inside of his leg—his reply was
To tremble in that tender male way—melting
My heart by letting me know—all that warm
Flesh was waiting for me—a nice day they say
For an indecent lay—unzipping his bulging
Fly bent and bulging—like a boa constrictor
Slipping down his—tight much to tight shorts
I groped—I gasped at the largeness there
The slit at least an inch long—and breathing
Like it was waiting—to be strangled to death
At last at last it said—a decent cocksucker now!!!
Responding to my fondling—in a desperate way
As if he hadn’t got off—for much too long and
Raising his hips off the sofa—sliding down his
Bluejeans, shorts—revealing his sultry meat
Uncut and veiny—the masterpiece of the day
Bent to the side after—years of masturbation
All I could think about—was the simply terrible
Waste of all that cumly action—how exquisitely
Tragic the dimensions of my grief—knowing that
His adolescence was so—spent and wasted in
Self-abuse—all those forever lost and nostalgic
“After the off—
horse riderless
and jockey tossed”
—Carol Ann Duffy
“Kipling,” Answering Back:
Living Poets Reply to the
Poetry of the Past
Well, my dear—it was quite a day
A nice day for a lay—a nice Spring day
A day full of that—exquisite skanky smell
Like a locker-room—full of young male decay
There’s nothing quite like it—coming back
From lunch, turning the corner—and then
On the steps—there he was standing alone
Like some lost Angel—from the Acropolis
Naturally I glanced—at how it enhanced
The day—how his white T-shirt outlined
What was to come—the story of his forceful
Torso and snug bluejeans—divulging what
The day already knew—it was a perfect day
For a lay—and as I got closer I heard the
Lovely Spring day say—Look, look my dear!!!
Look at his huge inviting crotch—that bulge!!!
Naturally days like that—days that are days
Days that are days for lays—so naturally gay
Make me weak in the knees—so that by the
Time I got to the stoop—I was stooping too
Bent over with weak knees—I felt sick but
Still had the strength to—ask him coyly
“Would you like to—come up to my room?”
And then with that husky—sultry voice that
Young men sometimes have—“Okay…”
Our eyes meeting—in that familiar way
That stays for awhile—while each ponders
The other over a beer—letting the day be
The kind of day—that’s good for a lay
Telling me his story—living next door
Half Polish, half Irish—the youngest son
From Kansas—unemployed, eighteen…
Putting down his beer—stretching
Yawning like a cat—spreading his legs
The afternoon light—of that day of days
Striking just right—the Greek torso of the
Gods—flexing his biceps just for me to see
If I was indeed in need of him—as much
As he needed me—his smile drooping to
A sullen pout—I couldn’t believe my luck
What a day I said to myself—running my
Hand up the inside of his leg—his reply was
To tremble in that tender male way—melting
My heart by letting me know—all that warm
Flesh was waiting for me—a nice day they say
For an indecent lay—unzipping his bulging
Fly bent and bulging—like a boa constrictor
Slipping down his—tight much to tight shorts
I groped—I gasped at the largeness there
The slit at least an inch long—and breathing
Like it was waiting—to be strangled to death
At last at last it said—a decent cocksucker now!!!
Responding to my fondling—in a desperate way
As if he hadn’t got off—for much too long and
Raising his hips off the sofa—sliding down his
Bluejeans, shorts—revealing his sultry meat
Uncut and veiny—the masterpiece of the day
Bent to the side after—years of masturbation
All I could think about—was the simply terrible
Waste of all that cumly action—how exquisitely
Tragic the dimensions of my grief—knowing that
His adolescence was so—spent and wasted in
Self-abuse—all those forever lost and nostalgic
Nocturnal emissions—and jack-off sessions!!!
He responded—by closing his eyes and leaning
Back holding my head—then gently pulling my
Ears down on him—his forefingers worming their
Way deeper and deeper—down into my zingy
Ringing ear-drums—deeper and deeper down
Into my throbbing meaty medulla—loving the
Way he manhandled my head—giving head on
That day—that perfect day oh dear what a lay!!!
Those tiny little foreskin wrinkles—dedicated
To the finest silky succulence—covered with
Capillaries—of the most delicate persuasions
With singular powers of extension—stirring
Like a snake in a basket—charmed by the
Flute of a Snake Charmer—sliding it back
Only to almost faint—once revealed jerking
Suddenly to life—nearly ten inches long!!!
He responded—by closing his eyes and leaning
Back holding my head—then gently pulling my
Ears down on him—his forefingers worming their
Way deeper and deeper—down into my zingy
Ringing ear-drums—deeper and deeper down
Into my throbbing meaty medulla—loving the
Way he manhandled my head—giving head on
That day—that perfect day oh dear what a lay!!!
Those tiny little foreskin wrinkles—dedicated
To the finest silky succulence—covered with
Capillaries—of the most delicate persuasions
With singular powers of extension—stirring
Like a snake in a basket—charmed by the
Flute of a Snake Charmer—sliding it back
Only to almost faint—once revealed jerking
Suddenly to life—nearly ten inches long!!!
How soundlessly—it distended so quickly
With a life of its own—so elegant and manly
Thick as my wrist at the base—of the temple
Matted tightly with kinky—black tight curls
Virtually a Bermuda Triangle—of lost ships
Sailors and squadrons—of lost aircraft way
Off course—hopelessly “beyond the beyond”
Beyond the point of No Return—my dears
Down on one’s knees—the world’s different
Things are more serious—down there where
Knobs are knowingly—full of waiting gobs
Where a day for a lay—really gets serious
The more serious it got—the sicker I felt
Deep in my stomach—lucky to be on my
Knees because they were—so fucking weak
So weak I was constantly—almost fainting
But things got worse—when he stood up
Pulling his T-shirt over his head—slipping
Down his pants—Abercrombie & Fitch shorts
Standing there barefoot—and bare-assed
Arrogantly letting me see—what he had to
Share with me—that lovely afternoon day
That day, honey—oh that glorious day
When each heartbeat—of his became mine
Posing there just for me—I couldn’t help it
I could only stare up at him—how did I rate
Such a moody Boss Cupid—winging his way
Into my Valentine Day—the Valentino Way
And when a long sticky—droop of tangy goo
Oozed out of his dickhead—the Slit of his
Pensive penis—viscous goo of the gods
Slot of the spout—luxuriant hot youth
His lair of pubic hair—bulging bellybutton
Tangle of curls and whirls—how uncouth
Running straight up—his hard stomach
From the root of his tree—and testicles
To his naughty navel—from whence his
Flat belly flowed—rippling washboard of
Shameless handsome—Herculean strength
Twisting his lips—as I went down on him
No time for kissing—my lips entwined with
The shock of his cock—my wrap-around
Tongue squeezing—and strangling its prey
Like some all-knowing—awful Anaconda
Feeling him up—the ache of his firm flesh
My hands squeezing his—tight sirloin steak
Hips—his flexed meaty lamb-chops so fine
Then it was his time—to feel weak-knees
Slipping down onto the sofa—letting my
Tongue rim him—in ways insufferably new
And yet old as the hills—my déjà vu tip
Wiggling its way—up his tight asshole
As if he’d never—been rimmed before
His wide shoulders—bent forward and
His jaw slack—getting into depravity
Mad to be had—his tight lips worth a
Million kisses—but there wasn’t time for
Dilly-dallying around—his tits erect and
Worthy of Adonis—nipples athletic and
Pointed pink—how masculine his armpits
Exuding the male secret—sniffing whiffing
Those pheromones—that drive queers mad
The more mad the better—getting him off
A day for a lay—a century of crotch play
What could be more pretty—and imploring
Than to do a little—nasty male exploring
“Take it” he said—burying his face so very
Indiscreetly in the pillow—going spastic
Like a tightly wound-up—thick rubber band
Letting me taste him—oozing spurting oozing
Some more—ancient Adonis ambrosia joy
Blood-jet of Ariel—Jizz-jet of the gods
Spunk-jet of Narcissus—Sperm-jet of Caliban
Corkscrew-jet—Lady Chatterley’s delight
Gamekeeper-jet—D.H. Lawrence nude
Jetcity-jet—Pugetopolis mon amour
Losing everything—at the racetrack today
What a day for a lay—going all the way
With a life of its own—so elegant and manly
Thick as my wrist at the base—of the temple
Matted tightly with kinky—black tight curls
Virtually a Bermuda Triangle—of lost ships
Sailors and squadrons—of lost aircraft way
Off course—hopelessly “beyond the beyond”
Beyond the point of No Return—my dears
Down on one’s knees—the world’s different
Things are more serious—down there where
Knobs are knowingly—full of waiting gobs
Where a day for a lay—really gets serious
The more serious it got—the sicker I felt
Deep in my stomach—lucky to be on my
Knees because they were—so fucking weak
So weak I was constantly—almost fainting
But things got worse—when he stood up
Pulling his T-shirt over his head—slipping
Down his pants—Abercrombie & Fitch shorts
Standing there barefoot—and bare-assed
Arrogantly letting me see—what he had to
Share with me—that lovely afternoon day
That day, honey—oh that glorious day
When each heartbeat—of his became mine
Posing there just for me—I couldn’t help it
I could only stare up at him—how did I rate
Such a moody Boss Cupid—winging his way
Into my Valentine Day—the Valentino Way
And when a long sticky—droop of tangy goo
Oozed out of his dickhead—the Slit of his
Pensive penis—viscous goo of the gods
Slot of the spout—luxuriant hot youth
His lair of pubic hair—bulging bellybutton
Tangle of curls and whirls—how uncouth
Running straight up—his hard stomach
From the root of his tree—and testicles
To his naughty navel—from whence his
Flat belly flowed—rippling washboard of
Shameless handsome—Herculean strength
Twisting his lips—as I went down on him
No time for kissing—my lips entwined with
The shock of his cock—my wrap-around
Tongue squeezing—and strangling its prey
Like some all-knowing—awful Anaconda
Feeling him up—the ache of his firm flesh
My hands squeezing his—tight sirloin steak
Hips—his flexed meaty lamb-chops so fine
Then it was his time—to feel weak-knees
Slipping down onto the sofa—letting my
Tongue rim him—in ways insufferably new
And yet old as the hills—my déjà vu tip
Wiggling its way—up his tight asshole
As if he’d never—been rimmed before
His wide shoulders—bent forward and
His jaw slack—getting into depravity
Mad to be had—his tight lips worth a
Million kisses—but there wasn’t time for
Dilly-dallying around—his tits erect and
Worthy of Adonis—nipples athletic and
Pointed pink—how masculine his armpits
Exuding the male secret—sniffing whiffing
Those pheromones—that drive queers mad
The more mad the better—getting him off
A day for a lay—a century of crotch play
What could be more pretty—and imploring
Than to do a little—nasty male exploring
“Take it” he said—burying his face so very
Indiscreetly in the pillow—going spastic
Like a tightly wound-up—thick rubber band
Letting me taste him—oozing spurting oozing
Some more—ancient Adonis ambrosia joy
Blood-jet of Ariel—Jizz-jet of the gods
Spunk-jet of Narcissus—Sperm-jet of Caliban
Corkscrew-jet—Lady Chatterley’s delight
Gamekeeper-jet—D.H. Lawrence nude
Jetcity-jet—Pugetopolis mon amour
Losing everything—at the racetrack today
What a day for a lay—going all the way
Writing back—coming forward again
.
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