The Compromising Situation
(Shifting Stools at the Corner Bar)
It’s true that every Friday night I frequent this same station
here at the last barstool–it’s my end-of-week vacation.
Yet, what is it about partaking in a small libation
that makes the person next to me begin a recitation
about each love affair and compromising situation?
Is it that I look like I must need an education
into their tawdry lifetime of mutual masturbation?
I do not come for gossip, confession or oration,
and so it has become a fact of no small perturbation
that someone sits down next to me and with no hesitation,
proceeds to tell crass tales of lust and its eradication:
stolen passion on the subway that must end at the next station,
tales of quick encounters, stories of a brief fellation
told in spite of what must be my obvious consternation.
I swear that I don’t come here for lascivious quotation—
one after another with no time for their gestation.
I live out my own love life with no need for titillation.
My libido’s fully functioning— no need for restoration.
I have no need of sharing it via barstool relation
that would bring no satisfaction and for sure bring no elation.
So, this is my ending statement. My final protestation.
I hereby call a stop to this and issue a citation
that whereby I’ve achieved a certain state of maturation,
I do not need these schoolboy tales, these means of palpitation.
Of all those dirty magazines, I’ve taken my fair ration,
but now that I’m an adult, I’ve completed my mutation.
So while you’re all caught up in your love life’s regurgitation,
I’ll take this opportunity to alter my location!
The prompt today was compromise.