Do Not Eyeball Fuck a Sumo Wrestler

by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

DO NOT eyeball fuck a sumo wrestler
unless you are certain of things --
that your time in the 40 is better than theirs
for starters
or that the scouting reports from Japan
of a glass jaw
are not the unfounded fabrications of desperate idealists
looking to make a splash
in the world of self-delusion  --
Do not forget to consult the five day forecast
for up to the minute skylines
and make sure the fridge is empty
before you leave it in the street
(the same goes for lovers).
You may also want to make certain
the beer is cold
the stationary shop is open until midnight
and Pol Pot is not storing the skulls of young children
in your linen closet
while you sleep.
Most of all,
do not eyeball fuck a sumo wrestler
who is someone else’s wife.
She probably swallowed the poor bastard
and he’s up in there somewhere
kicking and screaming;
making jealousy a full-time job.
Waiting to grab the engorged dicks of fly by night lovers
as they go inside
and twist them into shapes
even the hardiest of balloon animals
are weary of.

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