Poetry: Selections from PJ Grollet

It’s Code

My ex-girlfriend was way more social than me. She would go out with her friends to the best restaurants and nightclubs whereas I prefer to stay in my little room.

          That’s one of the reasons why she eventually dumped me.

          Anyhow, when we were together, we’d go out to dinner with two other couples. During these outings, when they put down their phones, the women would eventually coalesce and talk about what women talk about these days (Instagram).

          The girls’ boyfriends were typical American dudes who liked to talk sports, mma, but mostly football. (Again, when they weren’t on their phones.)

          Through my girlfriend (now ex), the guys knew I was heavy into dream work and that I liked to play with the poem, so they thought I was a sissy (and a strange one too).

          I tell you all this, dear reader, just to set the scene that immediately preceded the events which I’ll get into now.

          After we finished our meals one evening, I excused myself from the table to go take a shit. I walked into the bathroom, found an open stall, sat down and I let it all out. I then wiped my ass but before I flushed, I heard a woman’s voice inside the bathroom. My pants were still all around my ankles, so I leaned forward off the toilet and peaked through the gap on the stall door to see what was going on.

          There was a woman in the men’s bathroom alright. She was wearing a black bikini and asking a man for directions.

          How odd, I thought to myself.

            I then quickly pulled up my pants to leave the stall to investigate.

          My curiosity must have overcome me because as soon as I exited, I realized I forgot to flush the toilet.

          So, I walked back into the stall and I looked down into the bowl at the shit smeared toilet paper plopped on top of the shitty water. Disgusting. I then flushed it all away before anyone else saw.

          After that I turned my full attention back to the woman in the bikini who continued to ask the man for directions to some indecipherable locale. Both the guy and I were confused about what this woman was after.

          The guy eventually left the bathroom shaking his head and the woman walked right up to another man and started to ask him for directions.

          It was at that point, it became clear: this woman was a prostitute and her asking for directions was code for, “Do you want to fuck me in the bathroom right now?”

        Having deciphered the code, the man gladly accepted her offer. He sat her down on the bathroom counter, pulled down his pants, adjusted her black bikini bottoms and put himself inside her.

        Almost immediately the woman started to scream, “Ow! Ow! Ow! It’s too big! Too big!”

        It seems the guy who answered her inquiry for directions, was hung like Ramon from Monsters of Cock. I felt bad for the woman. She had no idea that guy was walking around with equipment like that.

        The line then started to form but I had to leave to get back to the couples’ dinner party.

        Oh yeah, and I think I forgot to wash my hands.

Bukowski’s Boy (Clarity)

 

I met a woman at the church carnival—a Latina.

 

She was on the heavy side and somehow,

she was also at the same Donette, DeAngelo

Barksdale’s girlfriend from The Wire.

 

DeAngelo was still in prison, and she wanted to mess around.

 

So, right there on the walkway next to the church,

she got down on her knees,

undid my pants and started to suck my dick.

I wasn’t even hard yet. I stiffened up inside her

mouth and then she pulled my dick out and said,

“No, no, no! This isn’t going to work!”

 

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

 

“Your dick is all clear!” she said. “This isn’t going to work!”

 

“All clear?” I said.

 

I then looked down at my erect penis and

for a second, the very tip was bent zigzag—

it looked like a red snake.

 

My cock was still right up on her mouth

and a watery liquid then shot out of it,

hitting her in the face. At first, I thought

I urinated on her, but it was a thick clear

liquid and it just sort of spurted out.

 

The woman remained in the same position;

on her knees she looked disappointed

while the viscous liquid now slowly

dripped off her face.

 

I was confused; I didn’t understand what happened,

so I pulled my pants back up

and I walked away.

 

I then headed to another section of the carnival

where the craps tables were set.

Charles Bukowski was shooting craps at a table and

he was like happy to see me. He walked over

and started adjusting my shirt and collar

like a doting father; he beamed with pride.

 

I felt somewhat embarrassed about it.

 

Anyhow, I said to Buk, “Hey man, I gotta

ask you something. That woman over there

was giving me a blowjob and

she said she couldn’t finish because ‘my dick was all clear.’

Do you have any idea what that means?”

 

I sincerely wanted to know and I thought he could tell me.

 

I don’t remember what Bukowski said

but I know he had a good laugh about it.  

a new movement

 

two young men stood inside a

bookshop and flipped through

a chapbook filled with Native American

imagery and text.

 

it was a new series of books

the artists and creators

were talking about.

 

some called it a movement.

 

a man in his twenties walked

into the bookstore with

his woman and child.

the guy wore acid washed

cut-off jeans and a designer

t-shirt.

 

he was an initiate into the movement too.

 

his family browsed the books

in a corner section of the store while

the man stood in the center and screamed,

“they’re going to kill us all!

first in the restaurants and inside the post offices too!”

 

he then inserted a large black handgun into his

mouth. the people yelled, “no!”

before he pulled the trigger and

blew out the back of his head.

 

another failed initiation.

PJ Grollet began his working life at age ten as a babysitter and then ditch digger. From there he graduated to packing houses, an interlibrary loan department, the front desk of a resort, and bail bonds. He currently sells money and surfs the dream cycles. He’s also the scribe for the five-volume series, The Book of Dreams and has been published in Horror Sleaze Trash.