The One Night Stand

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

THE ONE NIGHT STAND

Copyright 2008 by Philip Cairns

I’m mooning over a delectable one night stand.

Rich black hair and skin the colour of porcelain.

A delicious ass to slurp over.

I walked home, afterwards, in the dark, with the snow falling.

Christmas lights were twinkling and blaring out their Christian message.

If it were summer,

I would have sat on a bench,

In the park,

And written this poem.

But a frozen ass wouldn’t have helped the words flow,

I don’t think.

Near home,

A crack whore and a tall man came whisking out of a parkette walkway,

Making me tense up and move faster.

She was babbling in a sluttish, low-class voice,

Telling her companion about one of her recent conquests

Where she almost got ripped off in the negotiating process.

Every third word she said was “fuck” or “fuckin’.

As I rounded the corner onto King Street in Parkdale,

There were more seedy characters smoking outside a bar

And still others scurrying somewhere, as the wet snow got deeper.

An eccentric young man, who lives in my building,

Was getting into the elevator with a shopping cart full of pop bottles

And other things.

I stayed back and waited so as to avoid contact with him.

Now, here I sit,

Replaying the tape, in my head, of the night’s sexual encounter.

I’ll spare you the gory details,

Except to say that he was rather passive

Yet exhibitionistic.

Physically, he was perfection.

Just my type!

Exactly what I was seeking.

Thank you, Goddess.

Yet I feel like I’m reaching out to hug a phantom

Who evaporates into mist

Just when I cuddle up to him.

You stretch out your arms

And the shiny golden being turns into grey ether

And then vanishes like a ghost.

I’m reaching out for a better life,

To make my dreams a reality,

And I wake up and there is nothing but a faded, ephemeral hope.

Last night, I dreamed I murdered my parents.

The scheme was very elaborate,

With the threat of a long prison sentence

Always hovering over the proceedings.

In reality, they have long been dead and I have never been to prison.

(Knock on wood.)

The sweet young man without a name

Left with his friend and I went home alone.

A tiny, sweet taste of Asian ice-cream is better than no dessert at all.

I know what you’re thinking.

How could I call it a sumptuous meal

When I feel so empty in the pit of my stomach?

I won an Oscar but when I went on stage to claim it,

The gold statuette melted in my hands

And dribbled down into a hot puddle at my quaking feet.

The star-studded audience roared with laughter,

As I ran to hide in the wings.

There’s nothing to be done except to wake up, tomorrow.

To move forward and live.

Just breathe through another optimistic day.

Now, I am smiling and singing.