Instagram Poem #11 by Rebecca Gaffron

Weeknight and there they are–Farmer and the Master of the Manor–the two of you, queens of nothing and kings of even less. Embodiment of some Freddie Mercury song (it doesn’t matter which). You’re gagging for it. Now that you’ve connected the dots of drowning men lost in the undertow of who you might have been–actor, cowboy, hero–fuck it anyway, ‘cause you never could make your old man proud. Ladies man. Man’s man. Take what you can get. Take it all. Despair is a cocktail with a technicolor umbrella or the splatter from your latest erection. You stroke each other, egos or whatever. No doubt that’s a little too much information about who you would do, or not do. (But who you wouldn’t do is just a lie.) And who you’ve been done by. Standing at the bar acting twenty-two again. A fool’s progress, cause time’s not been kind and that booze, she’s downright cruel. Her pleasure’s left you scarred. But she tastes so good, that little burn going down on you for a fifty in the alley, almost enough to make you feel alive.

Rebecca Gaffron is fascinated by sea-green spaces, words, and men who behave like cats. She is a sometimes writer whose stories and poetry occasionally turn up here or there. She can be found at: