The Porn Star’s Lament

It turns to work, the thing you love,
The humping, bumping all day long.
At minimum wage, or slightly above,
That’s very . . . um . . . hard with just one schlong.

It rubs him raw, your poor old cock,
the ceaseless, boring, in and outing.
You stand in line at the time clock
and find yourself, bereft and doubting.

“Is this all there is,” you finally ask,
“Porking ‘Misti’ or maybe ‘Tiffany’?”
You do your duty and wear the mask
but then one day you have an epiphany.

If you moan and groan for five more years
you’ll have something at last to truly celebrate:
A sweet little wife and an Airstream trailer
to travel around in, completely celibate.

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2 thoughts on “The Porn Star’s Lament

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