Poetry: Purple Merkin

Purple Merkin


A clump of pubic hair pasted on his chin crawls up in curly patches,
up his cheeks and down his jowls, down this neck
in bushy ringlets connected to his pubic mustache connected to his
pubic sideburns connected to the long pubic hair hanging over his pubic ears
with two blue balls hiding behind pubic eyebrows,
one positioned on either side of his nose sprouting pubic hair of its own,
vibrating above a tiny pink

hole in her stocking below the hem of her dress—a shirt
she calls a dress that ends just under the curve of her ass. A black belt
wrapped around her waist keeps the fabric from moving
when she stands, but when she walks, she reveals

Everything is ruined forever, said the elephant.
You can trust me,
for I am plaid and purple and perfect in every way.
But the world is not perfect or plaid or even purple people
don’t understand the meaning of peace poor people poor
people feel responsible.

~By Colleen Morrison~