Jim Elledge’s “Mister” hears somebody else having sex. Silliness and sorrow ensue.
MISTER, THE ACCIDENTAL
“Spank me, papi. Spank me with luv”—not friends
but strangers whom Mister hears through the wall
he imagines Adam and Eve, but that
doesn’t work. (Context is all, he’s said.) He
adds Lilith to the mix. Still a no-go.
Mister’s mind wanders, then his body writhes
as he pictures a chorus line of guys
who stroll along the beach. From Eduardo
(lithe and latte) to blond, green-eyed Johnny
—names he gives bodies that he never met.
Then something—a growl, giggle, groan—clicks, and
long into the night and without a lull,
Mister’s a candle burning at both ends.
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