My Pen is Full
Posted by Simone Stolzoff | Filed under '11 Spring: We Real Cool, Poetry, Print, Show Poems
Imagine all your friends on the dance floor.
All your friends.
Well this was my night—
all my friends.
All my white, jewish, sweat stained,
can-barely-jump-over-a-box-of-matzah
friends on the dance floor.
I imagine our future sons bar-mitzvahs—
us trying to clap to the beat
like bad sprinters trying to anticipate the gun,
always reacting a little too late—
but we were doing our thing.
A girl comes up to my friend saying “you look like you need someone to dance with,”
and with a I just ate a half hour ago look in his eyes he smiles,
“Nah I’m just dancing with my boys.”
That night we were dancing
like there were shot clocks on our ankles
and pop rocks in our socks.
I felt the same way about my moves
as I did about my hand jobs—
no girl in the world could do them better!
And we could care less that there less girls on the dancefloor
than at a no-shave-november convention
cuz fuck girls, we just wanted to dance!
So unike most my other nights
and all my other poems
this one was for the fellas.
And to the few ladies who’ve
I’ve had the pleasure of showing
my, well yano.
You prolly wish it was longer…
but if it grows at the same rate its grown for the last 10 years
I’m gonna die with a penis at least three feet long.
Now we’re back on the dancefloor
And CeeLo Green comes on
And even the most stubborn wallflower
starts dancing cuz that piano intro is happier
than golden arches for a big mac junkie.
More middle fingers infiltrate the air than when Sarah Palin visited San Francisco.
And all us on the dancefloor could care less about
the fact the sprinkler and the shopping cart stopped being cool about 10 years ago.
Becuase for all my life,
I’ve had the same 3 man wolfpack.
This Italian Jew, a Pizza Bagel if you will,
with guy who used to have me over for thanksgiving dinner on my right
and the guy that taught me how to masturbate on my left.
We danced until the morning
and we couldn’t be happier stumbling home to our parent’s houses
cause we had reached our full bro-tencial.
So at that cheesburgers and regret point in the late evening,
we decided right then and then that when we’re older we’ll get
tattoos across our shafts that read “my penis is beautiful.”
And hopefully I’ll get it when I’m hard,
so when I’m soft it’ll read “my pen is full.”
And that’s really all I need.
Cuz with a full pen
and a full heart
the girls might come,
but even if they don’t come around any more
I still got my boys on the dance floor!
The Excelano Project Presents: We Real Cool
Posted by Simone Stolzoff | Filed under Announcements
Celebrate EP’s 10th anniversary with:
The 2011 Spring Show “We Real Cool”
April 1st and 2nd Doors at 830
Harrison Auditorium (at the Penn Museum)
Buy tickets Here: http://excelanoproject.ticketleap.com/
Facebook Event here: http://on.fb.me/gbK7HY
Corn
Posted by Simone Stolzoff | Filed under Poetry, Print
“Sex is good, but not as good as fresh sweet corn” –Garrison Keillor
I have had the privilege
of sampling a few varieties
of corn in my lifetime.
White corn is slender
with tender kernels—
consistent, succulent
crunch in every bite.
Yellow corn is gentle
on the palate
and can balance
almost any spice.
You’re more like maize,
each mouthful distinct
from the last.
So when I repeatedly take you out
to Big Nates BBQ on Friday nights,
I hope you are flattered,
but know that
I’m also in it
for the corn.
Flash Flake
Posted by Simone Stolzoff | Filed under Poetry, Print
You rest as a snowflake melting on my fingertips.
I wish my last few syllables
could caress your cheeks—
instead they bead.
We always were a kind of slush,
somewhere between a liquid and a definition.
There were days
I saw your body language in bold
and I could have sworn
your eyes hummed
that they were happy to see me.
But today something isn’t quite sticking.
I can feel your palm begin
to unfasten from my fingertips.
One of these days,
I know I’ll look down at my hand
only to find the cool damp remnants
of where you once were.
