INDECENCY

 

              
            Okay, okay, intelligent Reader, take it easy:
         I know Stew's a sleazy cliché as a character, young
         And hung-up on the mere hint of female power and so
         Making an ass of himself with every smart piece of tail
         He kept bringing home after his latest successful pass
        (Paid for with drinks) in a bar full of bitches and laughter
         At jokes about bitches

                                               *

         But please set aside your high-toned judicious anti-pulp
         Expectations (even if you must do so with a sigh)
         As encouraged by genteel albeit rusty novels
         Of persuasion with clever plots and proper promises
         Of some redemptive heroism or consoling myth

                                               ~

         Organic, germane to that let’s pretend game called fiction
         - For, if you’ve managed to withstand the wine-stain of this text
         Up to this point, it can’t have vexed you enough to make you
         Now want to dismiss our poor-ass Stew, look, rolling a joint
         (After his nemesistah Lee slammed his door behind her)

                                             *

         The birth – long overdue in the womb of his anxious mind –
         Of a SINful (worthless Stew would ever be a good Bad
         Catholic lad) encounter between his Twins of Good and
         Evil (could Stew ever prove more than a simplistic teen,
         As far as moral vision went?) in a dark and brittle
         Spun-sugar bubble of lust enacted in a car-park
         Or alley or rooftop

       
        (from *fatima solagua arterra’s nudes* by Brian Chan, 2015)