Poem For the BlueChew I Bought During the Pandemic

I want a big dick but I compromised

on that like I compromised on priesthood;

sometimes the dream dies so the dreamer

can die at a date to be determined later. 

There’s more time to think about this

bullshit than I like, and lately I’m noticing

how annoying it is when a pube slips

into the space between foreskin and frenulum,

playing both like a virtuoso, the way a cartoon flea

plays a dog’s hair so well the dog would drown

itself to make the music stop. That’s where

my dick is now, a tender button so soft

you could pull it like taffy, an object

so infrequently tangible I forget that it’s there. 

Once I told my doctor this was a desired effect

but I think I was lying—I’m thinking of lying

right now to this website so I can get dick pills

you can chew like Flintstones vitamins. I have

no plans, I’m just scared, bored, and lonely

and want to be scared, bored, and lonely

with a rock-hard dick. Is that weird? Is that

selfish? Maybe the inability to get hard

is what trans women mean when describing

the phenomena of feeling like one has a vagina

waiting to be realized, like the cock must soften

before its inversion the way butter must soften

before it can be spread over toast. When you ask

your doctor about Viagra it’s polite to say 

penetrative sex. When you ask the BlueChew doctor 

about BlueChew, you don’t have to say anything

because you both know that you’re trying to fuck. 

It’s polite to tell the BlueChew doctor that you’re 

a man. It’s polite to tell the BlueChew doctor

that you’re trying to satisfy your intimate companion. 

It’s polite to engage with the BlueChew doctor as if

there’s no pandemic and his product is being put

towards its intended use, not because the magic

wand feels rote. Do not tell the BlueChew doctor

that you’re sad and thinking about death, or that

when you think about dying you wonder if heaven

is a place where you can get drenched in cum

whenever you like. Do not send the BlueChew doctor

that GIF of Tina Fey saying I want to go to there.

After consulting with the BlueChew doctor

you may realize how much you’ve missed

the idea of fucking. For eventual relief, go outside

for several hours. Just let the trees pollinate you.