Trilobite

four poems, two images

Shane Allison

dont bother me

dont bother me


i cant be bothered


cant you see i cant be bothered


so why bother me


dont bother me


dont bother me im busy


i am too busy to be bothered


so why are you


why are you bothering me


what would possess you to bother me


after i told you that i cant be bothered


just dont


just dont bother me


im too busy


too busy for you


too busy for me


too busy to be bothered


so leave me alone


and dont bother me

Pantoum Blowjob

Suck my dick beneath this bathroom stall.

Get down there and give me head.

Wrap fresh lips around the shaft.

Suck my cock and call me master, cracker.


Get down there and give me head

And use some spit on this blackboy’s dick

While you suck my cock and call me master, cracker

For I don’t want to see your face for days.


Use some spit on this blackboy’s dick.

Play with the head.

I don’t want to see your face for days

Nor do I care to know your name.


Play with the head

I said, you know how much I like that.

I don’t want to know your name

But you can taste my cum.


I think you would like that.

Men tell me I taste like chicken.

You want to taste my cum?

Deep throat it.


Men tell me my cum taste like chicken

But you better not give me teeth

When you deep throat it

As my thighs are ajar like two car doors.


You better not give me teeth.

I don’t want your phone number after this

When my thighs are shut

And I’m wiping up our mess.

Soul Sister

We used to get along so well.

I would chase you around the house

like brothers always do.

Hold you down,


arms pinned playfully at age seven

to carpet until you gave back

my DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince tape.

Leave that girl alone,


mama yells

as she baptizes the chicken in flour.


You were the baby of the family

who got away with everything.

Panties left on the bathroom floor,


Barbie dolls soaking off  make-up

in soapy bath water.

You are the girl I ate

Froot Loops with in the den.


Remember when we use to run

to the bathroom and lock ourselves away

from mama’s leather belt of love?

The two of yall can’t be using the bathroom at the same time,

she would scream.


So I would open the door and push you out.

You would migrate to your room,

squeeze your Care Bear

until the fear subsided


into more important things

like Strawberry Shortcake coloring books.

And then we grew up.

I moved from Red Rider BB Guns


to the car keys of mama’s

Monte Carlo.

You went from a Huffy bicycle,

to the wonders of lip-stick


and a crush on a guy named Michael Jackson.

Now your into LL Cool J to my

Tori Amos.

We have become like the grown folks


we weren’t supposed to be around.

You have breasts.

I have chest hair and journals fueled with poems.


You had a baby and named her Jasmine Mulan

I went to college to study Creative Writing.

You moved out when the ten o’clock

curfews became worse than root canals.


I stayed to decorate

my walls with Janet Jackson posters

and tolerate mama’s complaints

like slaps in the face.


Now we hardly talk,

and I feel as if I need

to introduce myself to you

as your brother all over again.

CHUCK

Whatcha got there between those tie-died buttons,

Centerfold skin, layers of sexy flesh?

What is it that your zipper barricades

Above the belt, below those pitch black inseams?

Anklebone in those cotton tube socks.


I see those eraser nipples pressing through the oxford shirt.

I want to lick your steel-toed boots.

Come on Chuck and step on my face.

Come over to my place after work.


I’ll leave the door unlocked

Waiting naked like a porno star

In that queen sized bed.


I’ll wait to peel off those black slacks,

Rip off that standard issued paisley vest.

Shove the bow tie in your mouth

In case you need to bite down on something.


Show me you’re hard on.

Issue yellow streams of urine

Pass a black man’s beard.

Piss splashes against chin,

Trickling down neck,

Into an Afro of chest hair

That settles into belly button.


I want to give you the feeling of another

Man’s saliva drying on your prick.


Let me know before you come

Because there are some things, I just won’t do.