My Imaginary Cock

Abstract

Laura Madeline Wiseman My ImaginaryCock I want to be a folded pocket square ready for stage sweat. I want a routine of lip-sync & hips Elvis would envy. I want hair on my chest & thighs. I want spirit gum sideburns. 1 want spotlight. I want to be a tie unknotted & a starched collar open. I want the hush & catcall of a crowd. I want sunglasses Feminist Studies38, no. 1 (Spring 2012). . © 2012 by Laura Madeline Wiseman. 212 Laura Madeline Wiseman 213 at night. I want to be a nipple loop under a damp tee. I want to buckle over trousers. I want my imaginary cock. 214 Laura Madeline Wiseman My ImaginaryCock My imaginary cock calls me down for dinner. All day work on Dickenson bound me to language. My centerless body cut neatly from the field of my brain. The meal is arranged. Spinach artichoke dip for starters and a crock of squash as the main course. Near midnight my cock will butcher candy bars for hot chocolate to be topped by marshmallows. My imaginary cock pokes a wad of taupe heart on the platter. Creamed spinach swoops in drips from my tortilla triangles. Delicious, I say and suck on the spoon. I nurse a fleshy gob of gelatinous soup. It slides by my tongue, along my molars, beside the bumps of my gums. My imaginary cock taps a fork against an empty bowl and toys with table crumbs. I want a second serving, maybe even a third, but can't. I'm full and emit the groan of the sated, privileged, and ready for bed. Do you know the artichoke is like the vulva? my cock says, the meal now a testament to such thoughts. I shake a no and wait for my cock to go on. Like the vulva, bits are excised all over the world, depending on taste. The thick leaf of the labia majora, the thin, tenderfronds of the minora plucked off.Ln some parts the sensitive heart is scooped out whole. My cock drives a butter knife into the example on the plate. Can you imagine such a palate.'' my cock shudders. We live in that place. Laura Madeline Wiseman 215 My ImaginaryCock What stinks: Earring posts. Belly buttons. Feet, armpits, and crotches after sweat cools. Used floss, bad breath, and tiny white lies. Burnt popcorn, sour milk, and spoiled eggs. A plastic spoon melted in the dishwasher. Hang-up telephone calls during dinner. Tap water left in a sports bottle two days. The innards of the trashcan and compost bin. Unpaid bills. Credit card applications. Cat litter, damp dog fur, flea insecticide. House mildew, moth balls, the basement. Air released in a hiss mid-way through a fight. Marijuana, skin after a fifth of whiskey. Bar smoke, street urine, a decayed grackle. City bus exhaust. Not being given a choice. The Des Moines River in the morning. Hog manure, the factory on interstate 80. An empty house. My imaginary cock gone. 216 Laura Madeline Wiseman My ImaginaryCock My imaginary cock joins Humans Anonymous. In a back row I slouch in sunglasses, a trench coat with the collar turned up. The cocks sit in a circle. Bad coffee percolates by baskets of fake sugar. Blue smoke obscures wrinkles and sags. The room wafts the odor of the unattended. I stiffen when my imaginary cock speaks. I haven't had a human in thirty-seven days. Last night I parked by her house for an hour. Imaginary cocks adjust themselves. Some weep. Others rub sobriety coins. My cock shivers, It's because of all ofyou that I left alone. Several cocks applaud as my cock reddens. My fingers quake. I scuttle out of the room and slump in the car until the meeting ends. When my cock leaves with another cock, I drive home with the headlights off and get into bed with all my clothes on. I can't sleep. I pee once every hour. I try to masturbate. I do Kegel exercises. At 3:33, keys shake the lock. A door opens. Laura Madeline Wiseman 217 My Imaginary Cock My imaginary cock plays Santa on Christmas morning. You really shouldn't have, my cock says for...