My Darkest Fantasy by Rich Boucher

In my darkest fantasy,
all the lights are out in my house;
there’s a power outage in town.

The clouds shield from view
a round, sexy new Moon
no one can see.

While blindfolded, I manage
to tape several sheets
of black construction paper
all over all my windows;
if everyone in the room
were to bite into
one wintergreen Lifesaver each,
there would still not be enough
fireworks to see by.

It isn’t possible to make out
eyes, or shapes, or contours
in the total darkness,
but I can hear women in here
and also two or three men.

I smell leather; hear
the caps getting snapped
off the bottles of lube;
I hear someone bang their toe
and fall over the ottoman
I forgot to move out of the way;
I can hear the screams
of that person as they crash their face
into the oak end table I forgot
that I moved next to the ottoman.

We may as well be having this orgy
inside of a refrigerator.

I can’t see a damned thing.

Which is why this is my darkest fantasy.


Rich Boucher resides in Albuquerque, New Mexico. His poems have appeared in Gargoyle, The Nervous Breakdown, Apeiron Review, The Mas Tequila Review, Menacing Hedge and Cultural Weekly, among others. He is the Associate Editor at Elbow Room Magazine:


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