slaves to a good piece of meat

by Jackson Warfield

it’s just too easy

to fall in love with a piece of flesh

so much so

that you think of nothing else

but the curve of her ass

the jiggle of her tits

the beauty of her face

if you’re infatuated with those three

everything else is put aside

she could be a terrible, rotten bitch

or a whining, sniveling brat

or she could be so obnoxious

to listen to, so annoying to be around

that you are constantly considering suicide

or even homicide

but you’ll look beyond those traits

tell yourself, “naw, she ain’t that bad.”

but there’ll come a day

somewhere down the line

when you’re dragging her shopping bags

making her meals

and plunging her shit

paying for it all

right out of your own pocket

and you’ll stop a moment

and ask yourself,

“now, how the fuck did it come to this!?”

it did the trick

she wasn’t much of a kisser

but then, neither was I.

she’d sucked my cock

and we’d already banged

a couple times

so I thought we could go

a little bit further

“baby,” I said to her

slow and clear, trying to speak

so she could understand

“let’s take this

to the next level.”

“what you want to do?”

she asked, fear

and excitement in her eyes

“okay, I said. “This might sound weird,

but I really like it.”
“what is it!?”

“and afterwards,

I’ll do the same for you-”

“tell me what is it!”

“okay, okay,” I said,

rolling over onto my stomach.

“go ahead

and scratch my ass cheeks!

Just drag your nails right across them.

"Oh, yeah!”


drunk again

he told me he liked

drinking

because it gave him an excuse

to fuck anything he

wanted.

I told him I agreed,

in a way.

told him that, for me

drinking

was like putting a condom

on my entire life

giving me the excuse

to fuck anything

I want to

up.

Jackson Warfield lives in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. If he could talk to any inanimate object, it would be the beer in his hand, so he could say to it, "you're about to go down, motherfucker!" You can find more of his work at jacksonwarfield.com.