Singing the Massage Electric

such excitement now it’s time
for presents, the tree bubbling with lights,
the lights bubbling with fluid.

once the argument passed like a mineshaft
filled with gas, things were pleasant,
almost like those early days when
cuddling had its own reward plan, free-flying
miles deep in sheets.

and the opening was special too, me
pretending to tear away wrappings to get
at the naked surprise.

everyone watched as I raised the phallic
thing, a plugged-in miracle of joy, and
promise of solo pleasure:
no more backrubs you
said, your hands get too tired.

ten years since that holiday,
good to your word, your hands have
never touched flesh, and I’m
the body pulsing electric.