Moctezuma Johnson

every morning was Ali v. Foreman in my ex-wife's slut mouth

i found a photo like George Foreman pounding the heavy bag

in Zaire. look at this photo, a wave of relief comes over me

that i'm rid of 8-10 shots and pull out:

every morning i'd wake her up 

slam cock

down her throat 

hold her in place 

cock-pound

till the gag mpppph spits out

till she tears up 

till she tries to wobble out of the 

juggernaut, the cockernaut,

it's futile, pig, she's alone 

image of ex-wife from old floppy disk

marked "pig"

from an obsolete camera 

this bitch withstanding dents in the leather punch bag

she's my zahir and i'm focusing
training

every morning she takes the same beating

jam in a floppy

take 8 to 10  shots brutally. i'm sick of her,

my aggression lands square on her palatine tonsils

like young George

her body is my hotel in a foreign land

her head is my gym

her mouth is my boxing ring

her throat is my opponent

in the red corner

head backed against the wall

ears in my hands, hair wrapped over a clenched fist

she drools and the tears drip down her face now

she submits, finally, and her throat opens 

like a flower getting pollinated
or a building imploding
by dynamite taped to load bearing columns 

i'm balls deep now, puta,
i'm a wrecking ball demolishing your inner worth
cry, puta, cry

you're going down for the count

palate, epiglottis, trachea. i'm

the heavyweight champion of her throat

undisputed.

i must be the greatest!

"why do you treat me like this, not like your wife?"
"Cause you're a fat, ugly, useless pig."