A poem from Yoon Yong. I had a debate in the pub the other week about onanism. I have a theory that the violence of men, may have its root in onanism: in one onanistic act, a man lays waste on a rag, to an entire population. Dylan Thomas was concerned with this. So is Yoon Yong.
…Reclined | tensing in the shallow relief of the sofa
his unimpressive prick in his left hand |
tugging it like a monk feeding prayer beads through
his pious fingers | the girl on girl porn panting
out of the Apple Mac—it tickled her
how he tucked it away quickly & closed the laptop lid
getting up to greet her with a peck on the cheek
& mumbling something quickly
“…about going out for dinner in Itaewon—pasta?”
I wonder if he just likes the one kind of porn |
is it habit & if he looks for women like me?
Mom called me when she found “sex magazines”
in her brother’s room.
Panicky as only our mother is she called | not sure what her
“duty to the situation” was— should she tell
the father | or have a private talk with her son
about the immorality of “touching yourself” | even
though she knows nothing about it
—this is what happens when no-one talks &
the “unspoken rule of thumb” is the solution
to taboos in polite society: no one
has the foggiest idea what to do…