Billy the Bird

Billy the Bird

Poetry

Dan Riley

Billy the Bird
with his butt-plug
sits in the corner,
doesn’t say a word.
It’s enough for Billy,
with his hand on his willy
to be seen,
but not to be heard.

 

Observes as the party
shifts on through the gears
flesh slaps
loin fat
groin smears.
Peers out through
hand-cut
chicken-head holes
to where the moans
and the groans
are the most.

 

Said woman said man,
man doll in hand,
head buried
in the fat of her back.
Pulls clumsily out
said woman gives out
“Call me Walter!”
bellows and shouts.

 

Bird Billy the mute,
fake feathery suit,
sweat sticks to the nylon,
adds to the hardon.

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