Dane Lyn
LOST AND FOUND DETACHABLE PENIS
(after King Missile’s “Detachable Penis”)
“I got another cock for you”
my street vendor friend grumbled into a cheap connection.
“you better come look at it before the owner
comes stumbling around. one man’s loss...”
sleep crunchy eyes shook off the fog—
I sought caffeine and as I head out,
I wonder who lost it, this
penis; that is
to say that this loss might be all about
masculinity, dressed up to party, getting drunk and misplacing itself.
but maybe it is meant to be mine, this particular
penis, that is.
maybe the people who scour the frat boy drunk streets for treasure
were just as oblivious as the one who misplaced it, but I knew the power a dick could hold.
I got to the Second Avenue block where I knew I could find my accomplice
he was standing in front of a diner, blanket spread out on sidewalk—
soon to be covered with the eclectic mix of knock-offs and resale items.
he was picking off a sharpie-scrawled, neon pink circle,
from the shaft of his latest salvage.
I approached him, and could make out the “$22” written on the price tag.
he grinned conspirator-like, “for you it's free the
penis. that is,
nothing else.” his generosity was quite unexpected, so
I leaned over his blanket, and brushed a bearded cheek with my kiss;
my thoughts returned to how it never fails to shock me
when someone treats this organ with such banality—
a cavalier cast off, to never again
bulge in its original denim, their
penis. that is
too much for me to consider now— far too early in the day
I scooped it up, brought it in so close
that my examination even detected the scent of
last night’s cheap beer revelry.
I inspected its ridges, traced them with a thumb.
I liked how it looked in my hands,
how it complimented my short, black, nail-polish chipped, fingernails.
I scraped away at the adhesive left over from the garage sale style price tag,
and since the streets were empty I gave into my urging,
to lift it aloft, like lion royalty—
to use the morning sun to conduct my examination—
it was long, circumcised, rather thin, and unassuming,
but as my index finger circled the lip I came to see
that it had a curve, one that I wanted to see devoured.
so, yes I wanted it, this lost and found, detachable
penis, that is
I agreed when my opportunist friend fumbled through
the pack belted at his waist,
pulled out a crumpled grocery bag,
shook it into the wind, and said,
“whoever lost it doesn’t fucking deserve it.”