Broken Down Cookie by Juliet Cook

Half an hour after our phone call,
I feel like an unattractive middle-aged woman
who was talking to an unattractive middle-aged man
whose disfigured middle aged body is drawn towards youthful
vaginal openings and who thinks every other man feels the same.

Never mind the brains of individuals. Never mind unstandardized
people who don’t identify themselves by standard gender roles.
Never mind minds that focus on more than tight pussy holes.

It all boils down to young females lifting up their shirts in public
to show him their taught stomachs. Him jerking off
at home in front of porn stars who look like sexy teenagers
young enough to be his daughter or his granddaughter.

Women close to his own age might as well be grandmotherly
porcelain bisque doll torsos with broken down heads
or no head at all. All he really does is look at their outer shapes,
while pretending to listen to the poems there mouths are reading,
while his head rates the lines of their bodies instead.

He visualizes their bodies insides. Replays their lines
to sound like little girl voices chanting C is for cookie,
then moaning P is for pussy. He breaks them open.
Listens to them drip with wet frosting.
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Juliet Cook is a grotesque glitter witch medusa hybrid brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, and dark red explosions. Her poetry has appeared in a peculiar multitude of literary publications.