El Guapo with Melanistic Monarchs

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

El guapo swaggers through black butterflies,

As black as hair on him, on body, head

And upper lip, as black as pupils, eyes

That stab his victims through with lust.  Dark, bled

Of any sympathy, eyes pierce the hearts

Of those around him like he wants to pierce

The sacred holes, the holes of willing parts.

He moves with certainty, a sureness fierce

With manliness.  The faces follow him.

He knows it, lets them eat him in their souls.

He knows that he can have them at his whim.

His armpits send out pheromone controls.

  No butterflies accompany the dopes

    Around him.  They are yearning for firm gropes.

~ Phillip Whidden