'Sexy Dwarf (Fairytale of the 8th)' & 'Music In The Soft Convertible': Two Poems by Brian Harman



SEXY DWARF (FAIRYTALE OF THE 8TH)


Sexy slips into Snow White’s bed at night,

when she’s sleeping like Sleeping Beauty,

when she’s wearing her tight lace bodice

her stepmother gave her, when she’s in mid-

dream, not a dream-wish her heart makes,

but a wet wish her zippity doo-dah craves,

he wants to bite her like a juicy, waxed apple,

even if she’s poisonous, even if he knows,

someday her prince will come inside her,

but until then, Sexy is her tour guide beyond

castle walls, how he can tongue his way into

her Storybook, show her more than Sleepy,

Sneezy, Grumpy, Happy, Bashful, Dopey,

Doc can ever bestow upon her, more than

off to work we go, how he could go to work

on her, get her off with a whistle while he

whispers, “Hi, ho,” he’d hum, she’d blush

like the lips of the Enchanted rose, he, her

silly beast of a gentleman unfolding his map

of attractions, Fantasyland into Frontierland

curved into the hips of Adventureland, he

would hold her hand, protect her from pirates,

ghosts, hippopotamuses, buy her mint juleps,

get her all wet from the long drop splash,

pictures of open mouth excitement, fact of

the matter, horniness leads to the fastrack

of Fantasmic orgasms, and for no matter what

Tomorrowland brings, space, wars, any land,

any planet, she will always be the fairest one

of all, a thousand times fairer than any Disney

singing bird’s voice, even a glass coffin

couldn’t enclose the life of her beauty, the off

chance, the grim chance she is left alone, ever,

Sexy will bring her back to the mirror.






MUSIC IN THE SOFT CONVERTIBLE

—after Roger Waters,

The Pros and Cons of Hitch Hiking


4:30 am

drifting through purple mountains,

rubber humming under

music in the soft convertible,

a drive destined out

to the middle of some dark orchid dawn,

contemplating the guitar,

life as it’s been traveled up to now,

the rearview mirroring my eyes,

an empty road of detours behind me,

in the near distance ahead,

a blur of clarity alongside

the straight stretch of gray highway,

there, thumb naked in the morning wind,

she is looking for a ride

in nothing but a red backpack and high heels,

steering wheel turning for the first time in awhile,

door opening to the pros and cons

of picking up a hitchhiker like this,

sex on the leather interior,

unmapped future

lit with interminable sunrise.





Brian Harman received his MFA in Creative Writing from Cal State University, Long Beach. His poems have appeared in Chiron Review, Nerve Cowboy, Redshift, V: An Anthology, and elsewhere.  He loves craft beer, creating music playlists, writing poetry past midnight, and is proud to represent his hometown of Yorba Linda, CA. Find him on Twitter: @BigMoneyBH.

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