Sly to quickly glance about,
secret agent style, strafing
up to my target.
            OR
     play it more casual
                 glancing slowly
as I “push up my glasses.”
            Sure, sure.


But I crave, I lust, I yearn
  to grab a hold, not fiercely
but gently and slowly,
            so smoothly pull
    the thin plastic scratch guard
from whatever surface it
was supposed to protect.
            I hold my breath as I do it,
when finished I exhale slowly
with a sick
            little
              grin.
Now moving away, I palm the torn
away plastic, until I can get
            rid of it. 
     I don’t save them, no shrine of
                                    ill-gotten
                                         scratch guards
            lies hidden in my basement,
I don’t even have a basement.


No one knows I do this, but I do, then
    I dispose of the thin piece of protection,
             like a condom,
    used for pleasure, then thrown out.


I don’t flaunt it, like a collector,
       or my mom with here
            bar napkin signature of
                        Johnny Cash
                        (or is it Eddie Money?
                  I always confuse the signatures
                  of monetary musicians).


Now the thin plastic sheet that guarded my
        twisted little pleasure
            has been removed, so
                            don’t scratch me.

09/16/2003

Posted on 09/19/2003
Copyright © 2025 Ryan M Evon