Dear Editor

A mutual friend told me to send you

a few for a special issue

on erotic poetry.

“That one,” he suggested,

“where you claim that Ernest Hemingway

was the only major American writer of the twentieth century

not circumcised—and his tight foreskin

which made writing painful.”

Too obvious, I replied.

My first try: “Members Only” degenerated

into pure filth, unacceptable even

to my low standards…

so I called my girlfriend up

for some foreplay, but then I felt guilty

because, as she would tell you,

I was using her, again.

My regular method

is to become thoughtless as hell

and let it rip. For an assignment, however,

I felt some research was in order.

I hauled out the dictionary

for help: “of, devoted to or tending

to arouse sexual love or desire.” Pornography,

I figured. I went to my collection for inspiration and selected

something Victorian. Before I knew it—

The whole day was shot.