No Neil Sedaka, Me

Picture me without arms,
if you will,

picture me without legs…
a thumb tack

can’t be driven
all the way to China,

said the sick girl
I was courting with my torso,

my prick so big
in this configuration.

Claret Tories filled
the bonfire of my last poems, I quoted,

in hope of winning
her back,

you’re a fucking newt,
she yelled at me, Get Out!

The sweaty, Middle Eastern taxi driver
throws me into the backseat

like a suitcase---
snail skin, nonetheless.