DD Poem - A Divorced Dad Watches Pornography

Hey,

Here's this week's Divorced Dad poem.

A Divorced Dad Watches Pornography

The phone merrily beeps, a frenzied reminder:

“ME TIME”  8pm – 9PM Saturday.

He sighs through his verdant nose hairs .  That he had to schedule self-love at all,

An act that used to come as quickly

And naturally as bathing,

Renders him catatonic.

But he promised himself time.  Forces a toothless smile.

Takes out the dusty bottle of Astroglide.

Scrounges up a website.   Not erotica, this first time,

He rationalizes.   The mind’s rusty, and he’d just retrace

Old, painful landscapes of lust.

Videos it is.  Porn Hub silently stretches out its arms,

Unblinking.

He clicks on an image of a brunette in glasses.  Mid-twenties,

Remembers that he’s forgetting to breathe.

Opens the bottle.  The hands begin their meted, hurried caress.

Then abruptly stop.   Hears a voice. 

A raspy, unswept male voice. Leering at the woman,

Now occupied with her labors.

So he picks another one.   But he’s like the Goldilocks of choreographed coitus.

Either the bleached tattoos on the men look too vulgar and distracting,

Or he finds himself lost in the background of a blowjob video.

The masterful fellatrix; patient, determined, slow, with equipoise and clarity.

But not him. He’s staring at her bookshelf,

Wondering:  Maybe it’s time for some real furniture.

Handcrafted. Lasting.  He’s sitting on a black, faded

Futon, with seasoned, less than pliant springs.

The timer beeps again. Hour’s up. Nothing’s changed.

He sighs. Work needs to be done.  Closes the windows.

Cleans up. Desire rattles around his mind like a loose bolt

In a washing machine.   But the body, the sensate flesh,

It's just gone numb.