NAUGY

The whole house
is fluorescent overheads,
Chester’s dad wears Bert and Ernie
slippers, eating a nugget. One-eyed
Chihuahua called “ole one-eye”
lapping his white varicose shin.

“Gotta take ole one-eye
to the optometrist,” the dad
burps. “I mean put my dick
in Mom’s bungus.” He laughs,
nug meat snowing from his
cakehole, plus dandruff,
Ole One-eye quivering
like Parkinson’s.

If the dog doesn’t
get a bite soon it’s
going to shit or explode.
Little hand grenade.
There’s a tick slurping
its dog grundle,
where it’s got blood like
us.

Chester goes “Gross.
c’mon,” then leads me
by the wrist to his room,
all Slayer and lightsabers.
He says get in the bed
and I do. Get full buck
so he can suck me off
like he likes to.

Chester is a shard
of something I can’t
quite figure. Some flickering
mystic with peach fuzz,
always resentful my pubes
came in first. He slides
in a pinky,
says “don’t fart
this time.”

“Shut up,” I say
or think.
And count 167 houseflies
dead in the light where
they used to spasm.