Fembot Fatale of the Hivemind, image by Daniel Y. Harris
SEX AND THE DOUBLE-TITLE POEM
Only 46% of our world cultures enjoy
this phenomenon—the majority bored
or repulsed by oral contact. In Europe,
one-percenters were the innovators, as
Kings and Queens and courtiers tried
Kissing. Commoners (always eager to ape
the antics of their oppressors) gave it a try;
found it good—and kissing became the fad.
In case you think I’m mad—I read this in
National Geographic! For that 54% I feel
The wren and the small gilded fly don’t need
royalty to urge them to go to ’t. Darwin 101!
Nature’s first mission, survival—not of you, or
me, but our species. America agrees with King
Lear that if we’re to thrive—we must promote
Copulation. Lear ordered England to teem with
bastards so he could stick it to Goneril & Regan.
But the more we cheer the orgy on—with Viagra,
Hip-Hop, Sex Education, In-Vitro-Fertilization,
the more we abhor & deplore—the steady rise in
72. No more. No less. “Promise, large promise,”
Johnson says, “is the soul of an advertisement.”
At 16, hormones raging, the only female bodies
he’d seen were burkha’d from head to toe. How
provocative those eyes!—HUGE, that promise.
Virgins! In heaven! Unburkha’d! 72 of them!
So he strapped a vest to his own virgin body
& blew himself to bits (with 26 infidels: men,
women, children). 72 virgins? Caveat emptor!
Too late. This deal’s done. He didn’t even get
Isn’t just a mankind thing. Take pigeons: 38 in
a coop in Plainfield, New Jersey (circa, 1952).
Homers, Trumpeters, Jacobins, Fantails, Kings.
They made love; sat on eggs; raised their kids,
multi-culturally—with deep respect for birdly
Ethnicity. I never saw a Jacobin slight a King—
a Homer cluck a slur at a Fantail. Still, when it
came to mating, Kings only had eyes for Kings;
Jacobins—for Jacobins. So much for kumbaya
elation. Pigeons don’t give a flying shit for—
Not created by 5-star chefs, but 50-lira whores
whose mama mias taught them that the way to
a man’s pants is through his nose. That aroma
raised the eyes of many a hungry Napolitano—
to 2nd story windows, offering 2 for 1 delights.
Puttanesca. Olives, garlic, anchovies, capers.
Perfect recipe for busy working girls bent on
cooking up a cheap but savory dish. Easy to
put together on the fly. Still sooo delectable!
Yet, I suspect, even tastier, before it became
Lays guilt trips on whatever goes awry—
Should’a done this... Should’a done that…
(always followed by—Sorry, it’s too late).
Swears to be Angel of teachable moments.
(Don’t be fooled. Should’a’s full of hate.)
Should’a’s relentless; will rat-tat-tat away
till you shout, why didn’ t I make him wear
a condom? wish I never married the creep.
Only way to end the bullying—play the IF
card. If I could’a, you know damn well, I