Kryptonite
Ron Koertge 

Lois liked to see the bullets bounce
off Superman’s chest, and of course
she was proud when he leaned into
a locomotive and saved the crippled
orphan who had fallen on the tracks. 

Yet on those long nights when he was
readjusting longitude or destroying
a meteor headed right for some nun,
Lois considered carrying just a smidgen
of kryptonite in her purse or at least
making a tincture to dab behind her ears. 

She pictured his knees giving way,
the color draining from his cheeks.
He’d lie on the couch like a guy with
the flu, too weak to paint the front
porch or take out the garbage. She
could peek down his tights or draw
on his cheek with a ball point. She
might even muss his hair and slap
him around.

“Hey, what’d I do?” he’d croak just
like a regular boyfriend. At last.

***

So, for the first time ever, I’ve reprinted a poem already featured here at Zen.  Now this is extra special dontcha know, because the act of doing so totally fucks with my artistic sensibilities and weird sense of "rightness."  To bring this to you in all one big cohesive piece, this Catholic-school-girl-gone-bad, FemDom-in-control has violated her own "blog esthetics."  I normally don’t include art or pix with my PSOetry entries and I never repeat myself.   Okay, maybe I do repeat myself, but only when what I have to say should be said again or should be heard again. 

Take this picture for example:  how could I publish this picture without including the freakin’ poem?  I mean they do go together like cotton and candy, Nick and Nora, pizza and beer, stockings and garters, Victoria and her Secret.

So don’t just be here for the pictures.  Read the poem!  (Besides, if you found your way here in the midst of a porn jones, you are surely going to starve.)

Do it because you love me, do it because your a submissive and/or a submissive sissy and you don’t dare say "no" to me, do it because you appreciate poetry, do it because you aren’t so super keen on what’s required of your "manliness," do it ‘cuz I said so.

And quit your whining about the whole damn thing, lest I send Lois Lane to kick your bitch ass.

xo, Angela

BTW:  The same Mr. J who turned me on to this poem sent me the picture.  And we all thank him.  Don’t we?

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 10th, 2008 at 1:06 pm and is filed under Funny Side Up, Porn-Art-Graphy, PSOetry, Rhetorically Yours. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.