Poet # One

Poet # One

He looked at the label, then pushed the DVD in,
I could see sweat beads on his skin glistening.

He settled down on the sofa, Here starts the Drama,
I thought, As I  innocently started watching .

As his thumb clicked play, the Oos and Aahs began,
I wondered if his family knew what he was seeing.

What made him do it? Does he enjoy it?
No, I thought, He has no such feeling.

Perhaps the feeling of seeing exactly what
His parents wanted him not to see?

Whatever. From the way he gasped
I could tell the actors were done undressing.

His eyes had turned red, How could it be?
Was the scene so... enthralling?

His clothes were wet, the girl must have been a beauty,
I'd never, ever, seen him perspiring.

All men were the same, I decided,
They were all captivated by only one thing.

Even the 'good guys', who refused to do it,
Would never have a qualm with just watching.

I heard the excitement die down
His Oos and Aahs were stopping.

The room went dark, the video was over,
I heard his breathing stabilizing.

And then he turned around. "Elizabeth,
How'd you like it? I knew you were watching."

 

The End

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