First, i want to apologize if this offends anyone. But this poem is a bit filthy & the explanation here may not be to your liking, but when i wrote these Charlie poems i wanted a contemporary grit, to address some aspects of society people seldom talk about. i had Nabokov’s explanation of why he wrote Lolita in mind: because it was so hard to get into that mind, so sick & depraved, which is Humbert.
Charlie isn’t sick, he is simple minded.
It should be first noted that in this universe, the mythos (or logos, depends how you like your tea) of the pagan gods & goddesses & their fates was not to be sent to Hades, but to a fate far worse: to do menial labour, or undesirable work, for all time on Earth.
When still a teen, Charlie frequented a teen porn website called TeenFuckWizards.cum & Charlie being romantic fell in love with one of its stars, a rabbit toothed lolita. Still in his late 20’s he loves her & hasn’t quite cottoned on to the fact that she still looks young, which as the poem will explain, is not because she is.
Again, apologies if this is an undesirable topic, but this is fiction & not everything is what it seems.
Charlie meets her
A Friday evening after fish n’ chips
keen Charlie took the air of kebab, battered foods & spilt beverages
plastered down the facade of drunkards’ clothes,
the whole foul concoction of bad words, exchange of phlegm
ya know the curious hoo ha of the heart of Friday evening at works end.
A flyer for a club magnetized to the contours of his face
: COME GET YOUR GROOVE ON AT THE GROVE!
I only ever had my foots glued to the floors of comic-club,
I think I’ll go an have me dance & shake out
the thinks off the rabbit-toothed lolita.
A bicornous youth with face shaped like a goat
a little further down the road came to his note
: that is a fancy costume you am dressed with kid!
(nudge & aside to passer-by) ain’t that look good eh?
Passer-by to goat-faced youth : I want
what he’s been taking man, must be wiiiiiilld.
Goat-faced youth nods nervous in agree.
Cocooned in the synthetic gloam of the Grove,
the music pummelled Charlie into gangly waggles;
70% of the occupants goat-faced, cleft toed, 8 foot in stature,
humongous foreheads like cliffs, haloed callipygian nymphs,
dusty scintillae in the wake of their footsteps
that never pressed the sticky floor; clothed with vines, nuts & fruits
—& in the corner sat two men in tan business suits,
the buck-toothed lolita he loves tugging their lapels, gyrating,
their eyes feasting on her festooned body & sparkling hair;
& Charlie innocent of actual seeing looked upon his love,
& chuckled, when, each time her aureole flesh made contact with a thing
mysterious photons compelled by unseen gravity clawed outward
vanishing in the polished surface of his eye
as they dissolve into the classical air encircling her
— I thinks she’s not a people but a godshe said breathless Charlie.