Debbie Does the Drawer.
See? It’s a joke.
For some people
it’s in the alliterative d-d-d,
it’s nostalgia for that ancient porn
Debbie Does Dallas. Some people
laugh and laugh. See —
police search the apartment
but don’t find Debbie. Because …
Debbie does the drawer! She’s crushed
into a trundle
under a bed. She can cry
out. She does not cry out
(the officer may not be the officer).
What about the one where Debbie does
a dog crate for 40 days?
Are you hungry, the “boyfriend” asks.
This fucking thing can’t be hungry —
he knows that. It’s a joke.
So he sticks it and sticks it and sticks it full
of dog biscuits. Laughs and laughs.
But all jokes aside, he knows
it’s serious business. The breaking down
biz, the wising up biz.
Want a thing, buy a thing. Be the one to sell.
And the object can’t object.
Bend over, says an old man
the first time,
I want to see what I’m working with …
The object sometimes doesn’t know
what it is, what to do —
but it will learn. Its tongue hits the roof
and an open-mouthed hum, a sort of “nnnnnnn”
precedes an “OH!”
But, no no no no no no no no no no no …
the object can’t object. What’s it for?
50 men a day or more.
Getting “the girlfriend experience” or
getting in getting off going home.
Most of them were married,
with kids, says Debbie
with a cup of cocoa, debriefing.
And every single one of them,
I asked — why
they were coming …
but they never had an answer for
about the author