Melanie Miller: Poem
"WOULD YOU LIKE AN ESPRESSO TO GO WITH YOUR FRENCH PENIS?"
Every sales girl's had a man say,
"Good girl,"
for boxing his pastries with a smile.
he lines me up like cattle,
"Honey...honey...hey...
Honey...ahh...miss,"
whistles next for dexterity.
I feel like panting
command me, oh great loyal customer:
while he rubs his cock and says,
sit, beg, roll over,
fetch me
a triple chocolate mousse, baby.
I say the only words
minimum wage allows,
"How can I help you, sir?"
This man wants me to swallow his tongue
whole, as if it were Godiva,
a tea cookie, hot fudge sauce.
He says, "Do you have any French in you,"
and I imagine him choking on Chocolate Indulgence,
a hazelnut lodged in his jugular
the very words that bake
the customer to pastry slave
course of diction
In my revision,
I don't deal with soft porn candy games.
This is an S&M snuff film,
and my name is Master.
I enslave this man,
caged by pots and pans
filled with 88 rotten eggs,
enough to make a days worth of brioche.
After he licks the powdered sugar
from the soles of my stilettos,
I'll taunt an erection,
smashing bits of chocolate chip cheesecake,
just too far for the most daring of tongue maneuvers.
Then, I will cut off his hard penis,
the perfect consistency for bread pudding,
box it with a pink ribbon,
tie a bow with his tongue,
and sell it to him for $2.95,
standard price.
Melanie Miller is a dancer and a poet. She has appeared previously in Now Here Nowhere and Gnome 1.2
