Beer/Basketball/Wife

February 2, 2011 § 3 Comments

What: Beer/Basketball/Wife is a writing prompt from January 31st.
Where: Said prompt took place at Phoenix Park (206 67th st. New York, New York

Present: were Jess, Crystal Rivera, Victoria, Sal, and myself.
How: Victoria got up and ordered a prompt instead of a drink. These were the three words supplied by the bartender.
Personal disclosure: I have changed Basketball to be any sport but.

The BeerBasketballWife
has a whiskey dick in her left hand when
she rounds home- serving
rounds of thighs
as she vacuums in high heels: drinking high balls
kept in her husband’s crotch- wrapping herself
in the fur of quarterback’s upper lips.
She rubs her pitcher lipped tits against
the fried surface of bastardized vegetable meat
that rocks on the couch in rhythm to the television.

Her tongue ferments and makes moves to help holler:
din din> rising like an afterburst of ceramics after a platter
of smoke clatters> around pore guts doing the wave
the chop, superbowl shuffle,
grooming one another at half-time.
She sighs at her wedded prize of
an opera husband who now
tries to moonwalk drunk with a mouthful of popcorn
across the crunch carpet.

She weeps like a trickle at the sight of unappetizing leftovers;
tomorrow she will open the windows to let the fart escape.
The steam of piss beer breath filters through her nose.
Everything started to go downhill years ago
when she realized the color yellow did not look like
televised sunshine on her chest.

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§ 3 Responses to Beer/Basketball/Wife

  • As always, I love your brainpower.

  • Crystal R. says:

    This is more fantastic than a lot of the published pieces I’ve been reading lately from known and unknown poets alike. Seriously, Kish. Get to submitting something somewhere–anywhere.

    This shit rocks. “a whiskey dick in her left hand”
    “highballs kept in her husband’s crotch”
    the last stanza is crazy-perfect. reinventing one of those moments of a wife’s role during the superbowl: “tomorrow she will open the windows to let the fart escape” gahhhhh..I’d weep too. I’d hate him just a bit.

    “Everything started to go downhill years ago
    when she realized the color yellow did not look like
    televised sunshine on her chest.”
    LOVEEEEEEEEEEEE.

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