DON SPINELLI BY PHILIP-LORCA DICORCIA

His white sox. His post-soccer,
post-baseball attire. He removes his shorts.
Don is the captain of the football team
and I am the same nerd I ever was.

I start at his upturned toe,
lifted to make it easier to take in my mouth.
I am squeezed to the floor. His spit.
I am told I am worth shit. I pay extra for this.

Sometimes we never go further
if that is his wish.
I perform to his insults and fists. I am trained.
We meet in derelict factories.

His gay for pay eyes. His girlfriend at home. 
She counts my dollar. His dick.
His will not love me so I will not love him.