Page 597 - Gay San Francisco_Eyewitness Drummer
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Gay San Francisco: Eyewitness Drummer                577
             II.  The poem as published in Drummer 20, January 1978


                                 Dune Body


             Dune body babyman,
             stretched on spreadeagle wheels,
             the CHP oughta getta shotta you:
             hot mirage of haute stuff.

             High noon of dust and lust,
             Icarus rolling,
             sunsweat of your solar-power body,
             a quart of Quaker State to oil you up
             with my calloused hand.

             Oasis of erect palms.

             I wanna fill your tank,
             blow your carbs,
             drive you all the way home
             (9 inches: highway; 10 inches: city),
             take flying leaps
             at your silver spokes.

             Christ. Your shock-absorbing back;
             shooting over hot desert humps,
             rolling down dunes at me, dick in hand,
             ready for your pit-stop lube job, baby.

             Ain’t mirages when you rub ’em
             s’pose to disappear? Thought you’d vanish
             like some golden-tan dust devil,
             leaving in the sand the trail
             of your steel-radial cock and balls.
             Swing lower, sweet chariot!

             So come on, Sport,
             show me what you do
             for your next trick.




           ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved—posted 05-05-2017
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