Thunder Sandwich #16
Cherry Hill by Haze McElhenny
    2 Poems by
    David Pishnery





























































    < More Poetry


    jobs

    most people don't realize
    not every sailor or marine
    gets laid whenever they want to.
    some resort to stroke magazines
    or standing around school yards
    watching adolestent panties.
    some take the trip into the city from the base
    and walk around the seediest parts of town
    looking for the best hotel for the money
    to score a piece of ass.
    the doorman knows what you want
    it's just a question of how much.
    the old elevator creaks up to the top floor
    giving you plenty of time to chicken out
    or satisfy that itch you have been
    carrying since Spain or the Islands.
    they never look like you imagine them,
    some skinny and ugly or fat and beautiful -
    working women and men
    who watch the clock just like you do.
    they take your dick in their hands and wash it first
    with a soft old rag with plenty of soap -
    making small talk about family
    or girlfriends or the daily news.
    then the money comes out
    and it's down to business.
    sometimes she is dry - your fault -
    but sometimes if you laid the groundwork
    out right it's a tight slippery 15 minutes
    with no apologies or looking back -
    just a dying to get out of there
    and finding the first bus back to base
    to wash off her stink and your stink.
    this is better than wrestling
    with the girls at the bars who want love
    or want you to buy beer all night
    just to be dumped at midnight
    for the local football hero
    or working stiff just off from his shit job.
    some jobs are like that.
    some jobs fuck you over.
    some jobs fuck with your mind but
    some are just fucking.


    soft-weve scott's bathroom tissue

    I wonder where the media
    gets this idea
    that a visit to the bathroom
    should be like floating on a cloud?

    long ago I had to take a drunken ex-fiancée
    up to the crapper the last night
    on leave from boot camp

    first the jeans
    then the yellow panties

    I sat her on the pot
    steadying her with one hand
    and myself with the other

    then I had to wipe both ends
    reverse the clothing routine
    and carry her down to bed.

    she was going to
    sleep alone that night

    there comes a time
    in a relationship
    when enough is enough
    I could only take so much shit

    next morning
    she couldn't remember
    the episode with the crapper

    I saw her
    on the street not long ago
    badly dressed and
    out there in space

    she wasn't someplace
    I wanted to be

    they were nice
    yellow panties though

    Thunder Sandwich
    ISSN: 1534-4037
Edited By Jim Chandler & Haze McElhenny
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