CIRRIPEDIAN LAMENT

my life as a barnacle is ever so sweet;
I can have sex without moving my feet.

sex at a distance is my great strength since
my penis is forty-five times my length.

if I were a man on the fifty-yard line every
girl in sight could potentially be mine.

and even if girls did not wish to mate
I could spermcast my offerings to every gate.

extending my reach well beyond my grasp, making
girls who felt safe in the parking lot gasp.

you think I’d get bored hanging out by the pier
same old tides, same old girls both in front and in rear.

but when I am finished a wonder occurs, cuz’
I grow a new penis, a new set of spurs.

I know all the girls within several feet and
reaching and touching them’s no special feat.

and although myself impregnate I could I
think it highly unlikely I would.

one thing is sad though, I can’t run and play, cuz’
I’m stuck on a rock twenty-four hours a day.

there’s a rock up the beach filled with hundreds
and hundreds and hundreds of other…
I lost my train of thought.

still, what I have’s a small miracle of life, an
existence so simple without major strife.

the tide comes in, the tide goes out, then
I grow a new penis, then

the tide comes in, the tide goes out, then
I grow another new penis, then

shit…there’s that rock up the beach…

Michael Coolen is a pianist, composer, actor, performance artist, and writer living in Oregon. His works have been published in a variety of print and online journals. He is a published composer, with works performed around the world, including at Carnegie Hall, MoMA, and the Christie Gallery in New York.