Like arrows shot from a taut-stringed bow,
a paddling of ducklings pushes off at speed
from the edge of the pond,
almost too quick for the camera’s eye
whenever a human passes.
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
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Author Archives: T. Allen Culpepper
Mister Right Now
After Shakespeare and Mullen
My Grindr hookup’s eyes are kind of dark,
but mostly red from smoking too much weed.
If manscaped chests are smooth, he’s a grassy park;
if appearance reveals class, then he is seedy.
I’ve seen a whole shitload of rainbow merch,
but he’s all in black, a too-old goth.
I know that he would leave me in the lurch
if he got a text from someone hotter.
If colognes were oceans, I could swim in his;
he could’ve skipped the spritz and taken a shower.
But he’s here and his dick is pretty big,
so, what the hell; we’ll be done in half an hour.
He’s about as godlike as a spade,
but I’m fucking desperate to get laid.
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
Hesky Kluk? Check!
He wasn’t actually Czech, of course,
though he checked all of my boxes,
European possibly, or Latin American,
speaking a Romance language to his friend,
in line behind me at the grocery checkout,
buying flowers, lilies, I think, for someone
else, probably one of his lovers,
but I had already checked him out
from produce, over by the mangos,
his hair tied up, muscular T-shirted torso,
lightly-haired legs between shorts and sneakers,
probably an international student at the uni,
not Czech at all, but still a pretty boy.
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
Happy Yak
I was so surprised to find the yak in the kitchen at 3 a.m.,
especially at this altitude in the middle of summer,
wearing a kilt, rummaging through the fridge
in search of salad greens, and drinking my last beer,
that I was initially speechless, but I eventually
collected myself enough to ask, “Wouldn’t you
be happier at a higher elevation in a significantly
colder climate?” But he only grunted, waved
away my question with a cloven hoof, and
said, “You can research habitats on the internet,
but that doesn’t make you an expert on happiness.”
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
Preparation
Advisory: Sexually explicit
Like a mother cat grooming her young
as they grow toward maturity,
I lick your dick until its resting softness
hardens and reaches its adult potential
to fuck my hungry hole until I scream and take your load.
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
Premature Guilt
Even in forests primeval, did innocence dwell,
among the tawny creatures in leafy dales,
or was it an imaginary essence unseen
not only in the city but among the greens?
If it ever existed, we cannot say,
though we claim to have lost it along the anxious way;
we struggle to reclaim it, but never will–
same old story, Prometheus, rock, and hill.
We claim that Eden was a paradise,
yet Eve and Adam rolled dice and got snake eyes–
so evil came in shortly after first light;
before they entered the ring, they had lost the fight.
And light itself shadow creates, so thus
we are marked with darkness, unlucky us.
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
Red Gym Shorts
Advisory: Sexually explicit.
I’d totally do the dude in red gym shorts,
flip-flops, and nothing else if I had the chance.
His graceful beauty sparks desire, but it’s
his casual unawareness of it that fans
the flames into a raging forest fire.
At least a head above me, but not too tall,
dark hair, scruffy beard, and laughing eyes
behind rectangular glass that make him look
intelligent and cultured. The lightweight shorts
drape his glutes as if custom cut and ripple
in the wind like a red flag piped
with the white of unconditional surrender
flying over his hairy tan legs. A T-shirt
scrunched up like a towel hangs at his waist,
his naked torso mostly smooth, his nipples
small and firm and needing licking; he’s lean
but not skinny, with the kind of physique
bestowed by nature rather than the gym,
the smooth curve from waist to shoulders like
an open highway I would love to drive.
He’s not parading himself but watching the floats
in a Pride parade, and when he raises
a hand to shield his eyes from the sun,
he exposes a furry armpit I’d like to smell and taste
before tonguing my way down from his sternum
all the way into those shorts to see
what gift could be unwrapped for me to suck on.
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
