A History of My Sexual Encounters
All penises in this poem are fictitious, any resemblance
to real penises dying or dead is purely coincidental.
There was a Donegal man who I’m convinced was gay
Penis like a prize-winning sausage dog
Didn’t want to struggle with my stubble
For fear of taking the shine off his coat.
A Bristol boy ripped my hymen
Penis like a Twister ice lolly
Always melted too quickly
And never quite filled me.
The Aussie Naval Officer
Penis as long and bent as the steel arches
Of Sydney Harbour Bridge
I jumped before he stood to salute.
The bushman in Kakadu
Penis tasted like a burnt kangaroo steak
Said he hated when the Sheilas don’t come.
Takes a bit longer than five minutes, bucko.
The Dub I met in Singapore
Penis as slick as Tiger beer easing down a parched throat
He wanted me to go down south on a boat to Darwin
I flew north to Kathmandu.
Finally the Wexford Wanker
Held his penis as if it were a fishing rod
Caught my clitoris, reeled me in.
Took me seven years to escape his hook.
Anne Walsh Donnelly lives in Castlebar, Co. Mayo. Her poetry has been published in various places such as the Hennessey New Writing column of The Irish Times (July 2018), Crannóg, Boyne Berries, Cold Coffee Stand, and The Blue Nib. Her short stories have been shortlisted for competitions such as the Over The Edge New Writer of the Year Award, the Fish International Prize, and RTÉ Radio One’s Frances MacManus competition. She won The Blue Nib’s Spring 2018 poetry chapbook competition.