Frank’s Depression Poetry – Fiction

Frank’s Depression Poetry

by Frank’s Depression
illustration by R.D.

Throwing twenty-seven basketballs
in a row through a hoop.
I win an NBA talent contest.
My prize is a date with Daryl Hannah.
NBA has paid for a limo
and wonderful time.
Daryl and I are in an expensive French restaurant.
Over candles and mushroom
spaghetti sauce
Daryl is explaining money and fame
are not qualities she looks for in a man,
personality is.
“My man could be toothless,
overweight, bald
with no dick.
Far as I’m concerned, I would fuck an electric eel
if it has a good personality.”
For the seventh time, I ask,
“Are you positive personal appearance isn’t a must?”
“Absolutely,” she insists, waving a salad fork
over her head.
I remove a razor from a rented tuxedo,
slicing my face.
Daryl’s eyes light up, cracking a smile.
Her hand slips beneath the table
squeezing my crotch.