* * * *
The Post-it note stayed on his mind.
The poem written on it had been short, so he had easily memorised it:
You call that a dick?
I’ve seen cukes in pickle jars
far bigger than that
He had counted, as he recited it back to himself.
It had exactly seventeen syllables.
* * * *
It had taken him a week to build up his nerve.
When a job brought him near Rookton again, he had taken it as a sign. Before he left home that morning, he’d added a Post-it pad and pen to his bag, in case he decided to go through with it.
When he’d returned to Storyville, thehaikuhad still been inside the book.
Glancing round to make sure no one was watching, Gareth had written on his Post-it pad, which was appropriately green in colour:
Is that cucumber
in your pocket, or are you
happy to see me?
He wasn’t entirely satisfied with it; the first line should really say a cucumber, but that would make it one syllable too long. For something so short, he’d agonised over it all week; he was pretty sure he’d given some of his college essays less thought.
It seemed good enough, as answer to the poem he’dfound. He’d even tried to sketch a tiny pickle in the bottom corner of the note. The bumps he drew on it looked more likeveins, making his face catch fire as he reviewed his clumsy handiwork; but referring to phallic cukes—he’d had to look up the meaning of that word—was entirely the point.
Checking once more that he was unobserved, he had removed the first poem, carefully placed it inside his wallet, stuck his own poem in its place, replaced the book on the shelf, and pretended to browse the store for a few minutes more before he left, feeling both exhilaration and disbelief at his own daring.
* * * *
A week later, when he went back and checked, his poem was gone, and a new one was in its place.
What followed was the most bizarre correspondence with a pen-pal he’d ever had—and that included his school-assigned letter exchange with a kid who’d given him regular updates on their pet toad.
* * * *
That’s quite an eggplant
My balls are turning purple
waiting to taste it
* * * *
I’m craving your lips
around my dick; your mouth was
made for cock warming
