August 30, 2010

Poem Happened Across....

CONDOM by John Popielaski

At thirty-two we aren't looking
to commit ourselves to bearing a child.
The very thought of her conceiving
sometimes qualifies the pleasure
of our making love without one.
So a condom almost always comes
along with us to bed, to bath,
to the point at which it becomes
a kind of appendage, like a sheath
that has meshed with my penis
after years of intimate relations.
Even my desire to make love to her
is now attended by the urge to slip
a lubricated condom on, to feel
protected from the miracle of birth.


Gregg the Obscure said...

That could be the saddest - no, that's not quite right - the most pathetic -- thing I've ever seen.

TS said...

One of the more anti-contraceptive poems I've read ... ever!

mrsdarwin said...

That's melancholy and honest and disgusting, and makes me feel refreshing isolated from the mainstream.

MaryH said...

its a sacrament in reverse...

Steven said...

Dear TSO,

You picked a good one--there is such a studied ambivalence and sadness in studied choice.