Competition

we live by the harbor now
and at night
the ships often blow their foghorns

she's a light sleeper
she will leap up
sitting straight up in
bed...

"DAMN!"

"what is it? what is it?"

"I thought you farted!"

"not that time, dear..."

she is a good child; living with me
has disfunctioned her nerves.
actually I like to save up my farts for
the bathtub,
those grey bubbles waft up a magic stench

farting is much like fucking:
you can't do it all the time but when you do
there oftentimes comes a feeling of proudness
as if your artistry in the act
were a rare
and precious thing

I fart more than I fuck
and I fart better than I fuck
and I am pleased to be mistaken
for a foghorn
in the middle of the night.