Sonnet Against Sex

by Ross Robbins

And the first one tore a picture
out of an old issue of Redbook.
“I don’t look at all the way I want.”

Lonelily rolled down backroads
whipping great dustclouds.
Hip cocked to fire the killshot:

(kind of trite, as it turned out)
It’s almost Father’s Day, so I
don’t buy stamps. Instead I suck

oysters until my belly moans. Their grit
accretes on my tongue. Beginnings of
a continent. Continuity is overrated.

Blink enough times and presto!
you won’t see me anymore.

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