Watching Fox News

by Steven Kunert

I may someday get run over by a train,
perish in a hurricane,
get cancer of the brain,
maybe go insane.
Or I might die in throes
of heart-attack pain,
stumble off a cliff in Maine,
be crushed by a fallen crane
or murdered by my wife’s secret lover, Jane.
But no matter what, I’ll take true solace
and everlasting peace to my grave,
knowing I never succumbed
to becoming one of them.

Last Request

by Steven Kunert

Having known the pleasures of the female body,
someday on the cusp of death I will dread
what an afterlife has been described to be.
So mix my ashes in a cocktail of a Nevada whorehouse.
Read my will at an all-girls’ school.
Put my memoir in a gynecologist’s office.
But, God, don’t put my soul up there, and please
leave the very last smidgen of my DNA on the lips
of any sweet woman still above ground.

Friction

by Steven Kunert

Lust resists linguistics.
A tongue sliding
against an inner thigh
creates fuzzy lingo.

Sex opposes semantics.
A nipple brushing a testicle
disregards logic.
Semen defies syntax.

Libido mocks language.
A knuckle nudging a clitoris
denies consummation
of coherent rhetoric.