The Adventures of Stake-Out Detective Vol. 3
From the stake-out recordings of Phillip G. Brickbeef, private investigator:
10:12 pm, overlooking the city.
Moon!
O, moon! Fulsome with rapturous intrigue, your siren’s pull urges me on to ever more dizzying heights! Heights of madness!
Held in your sway, I can only bathe in your silvery light. I bay at you. I pray at you! Moon, you cast the world in a pallor of the fantastic. What is your ambition? What is your desire? Your potential is for either harm or love, but both with equal passion! You are full with the ripeness of my loins, youthful, yet ancient, you see all.
O, moon! You are my supernatural mistress. How I long to shed this skin and run wild as the beast, showering in your reflected light.
I howl at you, and I chase but you remain forever elusive.
My prey; my lover.
…
Ahem.
Anyway, that’s some poem my kid wrote in his high-school creative writing class, and I can’t tell if it’s a pile of crap or not, but I’m pretty sure that he might be sort of half queer.
And that’s fine.
But…I mean: that wasn’t a good poem, was it? I’m not even talking about how it didn’t rhyme, because Dolores says that poems don’t rhyme any more. She’s a doll, and she means well, but look: I’m the kid’s father, and I’m saying it: He ain’t a poet. He might be gay, but he certainly ain’t a poet.
Anyway, I’m up here on makeout point or whatever, and I’m supposed to be waiting for a clandestine meeting, and I’m so bored that I’m reading my kid’s homework. The teacher gave him a C plus. I don’t think that’s an enthusiastic grade, do you? Who am I even talking to? Who’s gonna listen to this?
Maybe I should start reciting my own poetry into this thing.
Hickory dickory dock
I wish Dolores would suck my cock.
We’ve been dating for four months, now, and she won’t even throw me a blowjob sometime? She came along on a stake-out the other night, and we ate our sandwiches and everything, and there was nothing to do except watch Joe Spillgroove’s apartment, and the least she could have done was help pass the time with something more than a little groping.
*sigh*
I’m an old man, but I ain’t that old!
Jesus. I got a girlfriend that won’t give it up, and a kid that writes lousy poetry about the moon. The water bill is due, and if I don’t snap a pic of this client’s wife getting railed by somebody soon, I don’t know when my next shower will be.
I just had to go and drop out of college. I could be sitting here writing poetry about heavenly bodies, not waiting to photograph a coupla pathetic middle-aged fornicators.
Shit. The moon. Yeah, right. Fuck you, moon. Whatta you lookin’ at?
—click—
