I Look Forward To It

Like the day
I'm sipping gin in the same bar
as a porno director
and he gets a call:
the average-looking man
who would have starred in
Around The World In 80 Holes
has gone all born again
and quit.
Who will flick his tongue tip
over Turkish clit?
Who will go Korean ass
to Javanese mouth?
Who will burst on the Greeks?
And he turns to me, a stranger,
and he says, son, I need a favour.

Like the white-stitched comet
of a baseball
touching down in my popcorn
at the only game of baseball
I ever go to.

Like a man
I don't particularly love
bending to tie his lace
just as a fart
bottlenecks behind my ringpiece
like a rat trapped in a housepipe.

Just like all of that
I wait for snatches
of contextless chit-chat.
One day
(o please, let it be soon!)
I'll get to say without blinking:
'Gadzooks!
put that down or, so help me God,
I'll kill every healthy child
in the United Kingdom!'
or maybe:
'Of course, I knew
He was God from the moment
He took off His coat.'
or even:
'The best way to end a poem
is with the word
Strasbourg.'