He was parked in the lot at Thrifty’s Drug buck naked save for
A big white cowboy hat and a pair of dark sunglasses he was
Holding onto his erect penis and grinning proudly and happily like his penis
Was a prize he had won as a bowling trophy or at a carnival ring-toss
Or like it was something a teacher had given him for being
A real good boy in school instead of a gold star or one of those
Phony certificates of accomplishments that can be traded in
For a cheeseburger at McDonald’s with the purchase of a
Large drink.
Holly Day’s writing has recently appeared in Analog SF, The Hong Kong Review, and Appalachian Journal, and her recent book publications include Music Composition for Dummies, The Tooth is the Largest Organ in the Human Body, and Bound in Ice. She teaches creative writing at The Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis and Hugo House in Seattle.
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