Mind Over Milkshakes
I was a simple picture of a person,
just a gulp of a guy.
She was not my first girl; she was the second.
It was a Dairy Queen date,
banana milkshakes, me tanking-up on her foggy
eyes,
imagining her naked foggy
female body parts.
It was then that she abruptly
slammed her wet wriggling mind
down on to the plastic tabletop.
A floppy mind it was, with no brains
and no bones.
Her fishy mind edged closer to me
as if wanting to be fed. I fled.
That night I dreamed of her bubbly wet kisses
flying like manta rays
above the rooftops of our town
seeking out foggy young men
to puddle with.
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