Anggo Genorga

by Arthur Graham on February 12, 2018

I’m from the Philippines and working as a manager of a local band called Wonder Woman’s Electric Bra. Recent writings can be found at Duane’s Poetree, Outlaw Poetry Network, Paper And Ink Zine, Red Flag Poetry, In Between Hangovers, Dubai Poetics, The Odd Magazine and Walking Is Still Honest Poetry Press. Also at Empty Mirror, Mad Swirl, Guide To Kulchur Creative Journal, Silver Birch Press Bukowski Anthology and Verses Typhoon Yolanda, a book for benefit published by Meritage Press and the now defunct The Screech Owl and Dead Snakes.
 
I’m on Instagram: @trainwreck_x and WordPress: deviationcummeditation.wordpress.com
 
 
 
Sandwiched
 
Inside a taxi with
me in the middle —–
 
My elbow poking
in silent conquest 
the side of this
tired and asleep
chesty chick off
from a night shift.
 
On my right knee
are fingertips of
this other man 
caressing like 
a hand to a long,
soft and shiny hair.
 
 
 
A Suck-My-Titties-Only Kind of Ride
 
                         Skin-tight
                      denim shorts
                          grinding
                           like the
                      motherfucker
                        that she is.
                       Mad tongue
                      mojo workin’
                       can’t afford
                        to be lazy 
                      on this bitch
                      allowing me
                      to only work
                    on her upstairs,
                just upfuckingstairs.
 
 
 
Art Begets Reality Rag
 
There’s a sex joke I know 
about a man who went down 
from the mountain and upon 
entering the city, he crossed 
paths with a hooker who 
asked him if he wanted to 
have sex. Inside the hotel, 
the hooker got so hot and 
commandered the man to
a 69 but gave up and quit 
when the hooker let out a 
stinker right on his face and 
the man on a high pitched 
voice said he wouldn’t be 
able to take the next 68.
 
This shit happened to me ——–
 
Except I was on top and 
there was a bit of turd that 
came out and the hooker 
almost punch me in the face 
before storming out of the 
room with her bra clutched 
by her left hand and went on 
screaming the name of her 
pimp. Outside, my ass got 
kicked by a bunch of thugs outside who wanted some 
piece of the action. To cool 
things out, I doubled the hooker’s 
pay and gave her pimp an extra 
100 peso in order to save face.
 
( Dedicated to Catfish McDaris )
 
 
 
 
“Art Begets Reality Rag” originally published  by Boston Poetry Magazine (2014)
 
 

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