Camping Trip
I was once convinced
by an ex to go with him
to a music festival.
Three days of speed metal
during the daylight hours and
techno and trance at night.
We spent two days high
on acid, laughing ourselves
silly at random shit.
When we were finally
able to fall asleep, I was
woken up hours later by
the sound of rushing
water and when I opened
my eyes I saw my purse
float by. I turned over
to find him standing at
the mouth of the tent
and pissing into it,
rather than out of it;
understandable, really.
“Friend,” I asked in my
gentlest tone, “is this
prudent? Do you think,
maybe, this is a bad
decision?” He looked
at me, a mixture of
confusion and defiance,
and without hesitation
aimed his dick at me
and pissed between my
eyes. That day I learned
you don’t ask questions
in these situations, and
you can’t argue with
a pissed off pisser.
Poems that Suck 