...My Dead-End Life...

Everywhere I go, 

     I see condoms. 

 

Now I’m not complaining 

   mind you. 

I mean, there’s a whole 

industry out there that 

condom production supports. 

All those men and women 

standing at one of them there 

condom extrusion machines 

have mouths at home to feed. 

 

Yes, I am sensitive to all that. 

It’s just… 

It’s just that a guy has goals. 

You want to be something. 

I want to be something. Me? 

I’m just tired of all the dying. 

 

Okay. 

Perhaps I haven’t 

explained myself very well. 

You see… 

I’m a sperm. 

 

Well, you see, there’s me, 

and then there’s me as a sperm. 

It’s a past life regression thing. 

 

Oh, I could have been

   a Neanderthal. 

Could have been a 

   slave on a roman galley. 

Could have been 

Marilyn Monroe. 

Could have been 

Johnny Wad. 

But no. I’m 

just the wad. 

Or let’s say 

one of the wad anyway. 

 

Past life?

You know, I would have settled 

for the life memories of 

a road kill marsupial, 

but hypnotize me and 

I go no further back 

than a big bulbous body 

with a long lanky tail. 

 

It just ain’t fair. 

I could have been 

one of the sperm 

who went on to make 

something out of himself. 

I could have been somebody. 

I could have been a contender. 

 

But again, no. 

My lifespan is over 

pretty fuckin’ quick 

   [pardon the pun], 

and it ends up being me and 

about one million other losers 

doin’ the sidestroke;

   swimming in circles. 

And all I’ve come to see 

is one big dick and a

translucent latex barrier. 

 

So, okay. 

This was my dead-end past, 

yet I’m still curious. 

Post prophylactic, 

can anybody out there

tell me about a priapic

punctured future? 

 

Anyone been 

beyond 

the barricade? 

 

Ó04 Jack David Hubbell