Love, Poetry, Sexuality

hidden junk

I once told a then-lover not to send me pictures of his penis. Ever.

“Why not?” he queried.

“Because you never know where such pictures might end up,” I answered. This post, ironically, being a case in point after the fact.

“And besides,” I expanded (no pun intended), “I’m not interested in pictures of penises, erect or not, yours or anyone else’s.”

“I’ve seen enough of them in all their glorious and inglorious states of inflate and deflate and up-close-and-personal to know what they look like,” I thought to myself, “and I don’t need to see yours in a pic or ten thank you very much.”

I kept that last part to myself, lest I risk damaging a fragile male ego.

He thought himself very clever (which indeed he was), when he sent me the image above that I have tastefully cropped and blurred for your viewing pleasure.

I laughed out loud when it came — again, no pun intended — and then I couldn’t help but write a little poem to go with it. Naughty me. The poem remained only privately published for a long time, and then one day I felt that hidden junk should be exposed.

 

it may be hidden
under a hat
but junk is junk
you can’t hide that

hidden junk
hidden junk

oh my goodness
look at that
at half-mast penis
in a hat

“what the heck!”
you might exclaim
but like the day,
to me it’s plain

this is how
a creative hunk
sends you pictures
of his junk

he hides the thing
he thinks you crave
after having
had a shave

knowing it
will be on show
the next time you
give him a —-

 

© Susan Macaulay 2019. I invite you to share this link widely, but please do not reprint or reblog or copy and paste my poems into other social media without my permission. Thank you.

a lover’s lament

i write poetry (for an imaginary lover)

alone

 

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