SELECTED
POETRY
by Shane Allison

'TATTOO YOU'

tattoos etched into milk-white flesh
a monkey on his chest
heart on the lower end of his back
want to cut my favorite one out of your skin
tape it in my journal as a souvenir
stick a dirty sock in your mouth
lisp turns me off
makes my hard cock soft
spit and slobber in your hole at last
lift those legs & give me that ass


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'NEXT TO THE LAST'

Hey, where’d you go?
You were typing so loud before.
Based on the scenario in my head,
I held a knife pressed against your Adams Apple
forcing you to slow it down.
You have a big nose.
I like a big nose on you.
I want to kiss it.
I want to suck it.
I want it, a nose like that.
Love the way it curves out into the world.
Did you go have dinner?
What did you eat?
What time do you think they close this place up?
So where are you from?
Just trying to break the ice
on a Saturday night.
You lonely too?
Me too.


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'BE QUIET'

Flip off the lights.
Drop that robe and come here.

Show me some skin.
Take the phone off the hook

so we can't be disturbed.
I don't want to be interrupted.

Be quiet as I'm lifting your legs above my head
high enough to kick God in the nuts.

Try not to scream while I'm fucking
you like a rabbit,

while my tongue poses as a ship exploring the
treasures of the inner you.

I've got nipples like radio knobs.

Fingers inside your candy ass.
Sit upon my chocolate dick like a King's throne or

drink from it and live eternal.


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'IN A BOOTH AT CHRISTOPHER STREET BOOKSTORE'

He played with my high-tight balls,
Stroked my scrotum with his fingers
He got all tangled up in my pubic hairs

& Was nearly strangled.
With my jeans around my ankles,
He called me his daddy,

Unlike the Latino hustler
He paid forty bucks
To play with his pool ball-sized nuts.

They gave me permission to watch,
Left the door open,
The Latino boy’s back turned to me.

Stroked his Jumbo wiener of a dick.
Could see his tube socks from where I was standing.
I should have cum on the Cuban dude’s back.

Should have ejaculated into his greasy hair.
Sat my naked ass on the Alaska-cold cement stomp.
He put his tongue to it.

Licked the head like so.
He said my cum tasted like sweet corn.
He tore up my southern dick.

New York slob on my knob.
I want a mouthful of that Puerto Rican cock he talked dirty to me about.
Wanted his phone number and another time to meet up.

But he was gone before I could
clean up all the sweet cum
He never got the chance to swallow.


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'LOOKING FOR JASMIN'

She woke me up
Screaming like she was crazy
I can’t find her, I can’t find Jasmin.
You seen her, have you seen her?
She searched every room,
Stomping through the den,

The blue and white kitchen,
The dining room with the beige stained carpet.
A little girl is lost, a grandmamma frantic in the house.
I’m wiping sleep out of my eyes stung by the sun
I help her look: check outside in the driveway,
In the garage, behind endless bags of winter clothes.

Jasmin, Jasmin, where you at?
I found her; I got her, Ma yells from inside.
Where was she, I asked. She was in my bathroom About to flush my dentures down the toilet.


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'JARRET'

I have never thought of you sexually.
I don't think I have ever given
a considerable amount of thought
to your sex. I want you to know

I have never thought of having sex
with you. I never developed a crush,
or had this ridiculous notion
of bringing you flowers,

or committing some other sappy act.
Never have I once thought of kissing
you or running my fingers through
your head of cute, black curls.

Oh, sorry. Sorry for calling your hair
cute. Slip of the tongue.
I didn't mean it. I want you to know
I have never pictured you with your shirt off.

You're my friend and I don't
have fantasies of my friends
with their shirts off.
Just so you know:

I don't wonder about the size of your cock.
Wondering if you're cut or uncut,
or if your balls hang high
is none of my business.

Let me just assure you
that I have never stared at your ass
while you walked.
Never have I had thoughts

of sucking your balls
or imagined you rolling
around naked in wet grass
wearing nothing but white tube socks.

Who in the hell would imagine
such imaginings? Not me, I assure you.
None of this has ever crossed my mind.
I've never thought of you fucking me.

I have never, ever had dreams
about your dick being in my ass
or my dick in your ass.
I don't think about my lips

around your dick, either
or your lips around my dick.
I know you don't want to hear
this, but it's true.

I have never thought of such things,
and I don't think I ever will.
Such thoughts do not run
through my head, baby.

Oh, sorry, my bad, didn't mean to call
you baby. It's not like I go around
calling guys baby. Especially you
of all people.

Just because I like my men bound and gagged,
rough around the edges, doesn't mean
I've thought of you that way.
I've eaten ice cream

off the asses of countless men,
but never, and I mean never,
have I thought of what it would be like
to eat butter pecan ice cream off your ass.

I've never imagined you pouring
hot candle wax on my genitals, either.
It's not you I think of when I'm
lying naked in bed with my cock in my hand.

You are not the one I think of when I come.
You are the last guy I think about.
I want you to know that.
I just want to clear that up.


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'WHY CAN'T MY PARENTS' BE HOLLYWOOD MOVIE STARS?'

Why can't my mama be a Hollywood starlet
wearing fur coats, drinking champagne in stretch limousines?
Why isn't she driving a Rolls Royce down Woodville highway?
Why can't she be more like Halle Berry with the voice of Natalie Cole?

Instead of this self-made house with leaky roofs in bedrooms,
a kitchen where flying cockroaches sleep in cabinets eating
out of boxes of cornflakes, why can't we live in a mansion in Beverly Hills?
I would rather be driving a cream-colored Mercedes than a Lincoln Continental

with chapped leather seats cracked from the summers of the sunshine state.
Why can't my daddy with bad knees be Sydney Poitier?
I wish he was possessed by Paul Robeson.
Wish he was the head honcho at a big studio.
Steven Spielberg's number in his rolidex.

Instead of caviar on crackers, I'm eating sausage sandwiches.
Instead of white wine, I'm drinking fruit punch from jelly jars.
My folks don't own a single champagne glass.
Instead of going to Barnhill's for all you can eat chicken and yams,

why can't they throw dinner parties?
Invite Jack Nicholson, Nicole Kidman.
There should be Oscar statues on the in-tables,
Emmys in the den, SAG cards in their pockets.

Why can't my mama be in major motion pictures,
in a love scene with Laurence Fishburne?
I wish my daddy was more like Mel Gibson.
I want to hang out with John Travolta.

Richard Gere and me like this.
I want Jennifer Jason Leigh to be my fag hag.
There should be a private jet in our driveway.

Where are the maids with my butter pecan ice cream?
"Bring the car around, Jeeves."
I've always wanted to say that.
Instead of a Donald Trump lifestyle,
I'm living a middle class existence.

My parents' names should be in lights.
There should be flowers and fan mail galore.
Lies printed in the National Enquirer.

Instead of dirt roads with sinkholes,
show me the road paved with glamour and gold platinum cards.


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'THINGS I'M DYING TO ASK THE FIRST BOY WHO KISSED ME'

So what's up?
You don't remember me do you?
Has your life changed since that day?
Are you gay or straight?
Do you have a boyfriend?
Is he nice?
How did you two meet?
Does he remind you of me?
How long have you guys been together?
Do you have a girlfriend?
How long have you two been together?
How did you two meet?
Does she remind you of me?
Do your parents' know?
Do you ever think about me?
Remember our teacher in the first grade?
Did you move away?
Are you still living in Tallahassee?
Where are you staying now?
What do you do?
Did you go to college?
What high school did you end up attending?
Did you see it all as just a phase?
Do you still have that same, soft curly hair that I loved even then?
Do you think our teacher ever suspected anything?
Is your life as fucked up as mine?
Do you ever wonder if I think about you?
How are things?
I do you know... think about you, but not all the time.


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'STEALING'

I thought I could get away with it.
I was so sure
sitting at a table on the third floor,
flipping through pages of poems.

I was so sure no one would care
about a few old magazines
with pages of old poems
and photos of bare-butt boys

in issues of a few old magazines.
The coast was clear as I stuffed the magazines
with pages of bare-butt boys
in my army-green pants.

No one was around
in the stall of the third floor bathroom
when I stuffed them in the backside of my army-green pants.
No one saw me

in the stall of the third floor bathroom.
It was a piece of cake I was sure I would get away with.
No one saw me,
but I forgot about the alarms.

It was a piece of cake I was sure to get away with
until I walked past the alarms
I forgot about.
The librarian checked my bag

and told me to walk past the alarms
that sounded off a second time when I walked through.
The librarian asked me to empty my bag.
Do you have anything metal on you, she asked

after the alarm sounded the second time around.
I was scared shitless when she asked,
Do you have anything metal on you?
Scared shitless.

I knew I was caught
when she said to follow her to her office.
Scared shitless.
The jig was up

when I was told to wait in her office.
I forgot to rip out the bar code,
nevertheless, it was too late, the jig was up
when campus security arrived.

I should have ripped off the barcode.
A summons was issued to appear in court
by campus security.
How could I have been so stupid?

© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'FATTENING'

A lady called me big bird today.
I thought it was funny and laughed at the crosswalk.
Before moving to New York, I went by many names.
Fat Albert, Big Bubba. Found them as cruel as the mouths
that gave them life. Daddy use to be after me about

eating too much. Sneaking into the kitchen
for creme pies, cans of soda, greasy pork chop sandwiches.
Gaining weight at an enormous rate. Size 48 jean, 3 X shirts.
Nothing looked good on me until I moved to the city
Where I walked to places by the blocks and was on a strict diet of water
and whatever my roommates threw away in the garbage.

© Shane Allison

Reproduced with permission

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'ON WALKING IN ON MY DADDY TAKING A SHIT'

Walked in on my daddy taking a dump today.
He usually closes and locks the door
now I can't get him out of my head
sitting silent on the commode wiping his ass.

He should have closed and locked the door,
for I didn't need to see that side of him
sitting on the toilet wiping his rump,
pinching off a loaf

from his back side I wish I hadn't have witnessed.
He stinks up the bathroom,
pinching a loaf off,
wiping from front to back,

stinking up the green and white bathroom.
Dirty jeans down around his ankles,
wipes his ass from front to back.
I shut my eyes and closed the door

to his dirty jeans down around his ankles
wishing he had have had common sense
to close the door behind him,
'cuz I could have gone all day without seeing that.

Wish he had have thought to close the door.
Squeezes shit into the mouth of that porcelain God.
I could have gone all day without seeing my father
take a dump in the dark of that newly remodeled bath.

© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'I SAW YOUR BOYFRIEND STARING AT ME'

I saw your boyfriend staring at me
from across the room
At the poetry reading
When you kissed him on the cheek.

He was watching me from across the room
Of candlelit tables
As you kissed him on the cheek
over dimly-lit lights

of candle-lit tables.
He left you cold and coverless
over dimly-lit lights
in the king sized bed

where you were left cold and coverless
as he snuck, four in the morning
out of your Westside apartment
past the cat and wicker furniture

at four in the morning
Digging through the pockets of his jeans for the keys
Thrown over wicker furniture.
He’s not who you think

digging through the pockets of his jeans for keys.
Your man thinks of me.
He’s not who you think
as you kiss him on the cheek.

he looks at me
during the poetry reading
as he kisses you on the cheek.
We made plans to meet later at my place

After the reading,
While you went to check your make-up.
We’re going to have dinner at my place.
He’s going to leave you for sure.


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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'GRANDMA'S POCKET BOOK'

Grandma what's in your pocket book?
Grandma you got any drink coasters in your pocket book?
You got any porcelain Siamese cats in your pocket book,
or stale barbecue potato chips, grandma, at the bottom of your pocket book?
Grandma you got a Teflon frying pan in your pocket
book?
Do you have a nutcracker or those tiny bottles of vodka
they have in those mini refrigerators in the hotels?
Grandma do you have a mini refrigerator in your pocket book?
What about earrings?
You got some sterling silver earrings in your pocket book, grandma?
What about cashmere sweaters or a pair of flannel boxers?
Grandma do you have any golf balls in your pocket book
or wire frogs or turtles made of wire?
Grandma do you have any peach blossom air freshener in
your pocket book?
Grandma what about remote control cars with remote controls?
You got any of those in your pocket book,
or a pair of raspberry-colored Barbie boots?
Do you have a vicious French poodle in your pocket book
or a pair of jelly sandals in teal?
What about a pair of pink jeans and some tie-dyed wife beater tee shirts?
Any unicorns in your pocket book, grandma?
You got any fairy dust, grandma, in your pocket book?
Grandma can I have a calculator watch and some crazy glue?
You got any candy curls or red beards in your
pocket book?
You wouldn't by any chance have a boyfriend with a
bubble bear butt in your pocket book for me would you?
Grandma do you have an orange windbreaker in your
pocket book similar to the one I wore in the seventh grade?
Do you have a slaw dog from Dog Et Al in your pocket book?
Do you have any fat rat shoe strings in your pocket book,

grandma that I can put in my Adidas'?
Grandma I lost a sling shot with a white handle.
I've looked everywhere for it.
Is it in your pocket book?
Is there a pepperoni pizza in there?
Grandma you got any latex gloves in your pocket book?
Do you have a polka-dot turtleneck in your pocket
book
or some Clip-n-Save coupons?
Grandma do you, um...
...do you have any honey buns in your pocket book?


© Shane Allison
Reproduced with permission

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