Appropriated Condiment

by Matthew Schmidt

If there's one thing I use a lot of it's mustard.

I ONCE LOST a woman to mustard when she refused
to lick the mustard applied to my genitals
which consequently is unpatriotic
in that Ball Park Franks, freedom of religion
ideology we take for granted.

So there I am with an exquisite dollop
of mustard meandering down the veins
of my penis when the woman looks
at me with an array of expressions
displayed as if in slide-show mode
the click, click forward through time

buttons her blouse—you see I had
pulled the Plochman's from the fridge
as she was on the kitchen floor
imagining (I'm sure)I was reaching
for an ice cube, it being the middle
of summer and sex—and spits on my dick.

I'm giving it the old user's handbook
as the door is slamming on the apartment/
us/my mustard fun, when she stalks
back in, grabs the Plochman's
begins decorating the interior of my domicile.

She leaves after she's contorted the bottle
into a crumpled version of the American Dream.

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