The Bert and Ernie Affiar

Upon exiting the car, Ernie and I
Conversed, about how announcing one's hatred
For the dictator never wore on us and
The truth: soldiers cannot kill blamelessly by
Virtue of a supposed job description,

That they can’t really, truly even label
Themselves soldiers without printing that label
Using the blood of all the slain of soldiers
That preceded them as ink. He fucked me once
Again, better I think, this time a little

More straightforward (in speaking of the path to
Penetration from naked), though I had to
Endure several episodes of Family
Guy and euphoria from vaporizers
Of the old man he lived with before we, um,

Well, we ended up getting down to fucking,
My head unable to remain elevated more than
A few instants and ultimately resting
Happy, mouth flora investigating several
Of the two hundred threads that Target counted

In his Egyptian cotton pillow case. We
Didn't utilize condoms again, though our
Former bareback fuck who had introduced us
Urged us to for no apparent reason,
Quite ironic, since he and I both knew him

And used that as justification not to.
It was straightforward; it was also quicker
This time; I wasted far fewer moments gasping,
Mouth wide at the length, the girth and hardness
Of his instrument, (literally) numbed—how

Well he translated pleasure: firstly on my
Back, one leg lifted halfway between behind
Him and propped on his shoulder, then what every
Top considers to count as riding, even
Though when riding a horse, the horses move; I

Was the only one moving in this gallop.
Between orgasm, toss and turn and sleep and
The stark, beautiful dawn that woke me up, our
Semen hardened into a definite night, but
As if dawn was a heated, moistened towel,

Night dissolved without even pulling hair out;
Then, without even bothering to run his
Hands through my hair, void of styling products, we
Walked, descending the stairs now, past the elder,
Briskly, forgetting the music he promised

He would transfer onto the iPod he'd used in
Tainting Joni's "My Old Man." Angela died that
Night, according to newspapers, although Lesley
and I cling to our theories about that: Kirk
Killed her, obvious in the calculation

Required to choose the dress she wore to her own
Wake, too delicate, pink and far too child-like
For the thirty-ish often taken for a
Twelve, the choice of whom in terms of clothing
Often rendered the lightest rose carnation

Near saturated. Red, or plum, maroon. "Of
Course he killed her," Lesley declared about
Seven sentences after she had laughed about
The fact that I passed the night our friend had died
(I believe at some point I was supposed to have

spent it maybe with her) as company of
A boy Sesame Street had named in part and,
In truth, interestingly enough on the
Final, second of two nights he and I had
In real privacy, after promenading

Through one quarter (the lower level) of the
Mall, past kiosks at which he’d worked (all clad in
Black), he sported a too-tight, too-drab, eighties
Orange and blue-striped polo shirt and
Haircut dating back to that time as well, though it

Fit him just as well; it is responsible
For the indie boy fetish plaguing me now.
But who claims to be responsible for the
Fact that death tolls in Iraq apparently
Reached two-thousand (two-thousand of our own of

Course; boo-hoo for that, two thousand slaughter-
Bound young livestock who surely would have voted
For the President that sent them to their deaths,
Had he ordered them somewhere else; two thousand,
Among them students who would have used the money,

The funds allocated to them to pursue
Noble degrees in business, enterprise or
What would advance the grip of capitalism
On the world--and what next, now that there is such
A grim milestone reached in Mesopotamia,

We devour one more birthplace? Must we
Rearrange the poor Korean border now?)? Last
I heard Ernie was in Seoul rearranging the
Insides (probably) of tens and tens of
Boys, whose average penis length, per tables

Seen online one time, close to 3.1 inches,
Though I understood he was supposed to work in
Hospitality (Frontenac Hilton, I heard)
Although, then again he was also supposed
To be big man on campus, which is bullshit

Because very few were capable, worthy,
Just in knowing, since he was among a few
Men I ascertained attended Fontbonne; he
Was apparently against conservatives
And their agenda, but judging by his treatment of

Me--our mere two nights alone (the last of which
Was obscured by the side-effects of an
Overrated hallucinogen, before the
Timely death of a distant acquaintance I
Do refer to as a best friend), sex without condoms,

(No doubt influenced by hallucinogens),
His indecency—not having his own place in
Which to make lust to me, and thus using me
As a supplment beyond his surely often
Nude parading down stairs, in view of him, the

Owner, so as not to be evicted on the
Spot—I’ll never desire to marry men, for
Judging manhood, of which he was in great possession,
He faltered at commanding anything more than
My colon, me in stomach-down position.