In the House of Eros

by Brett Rutherford

His mother invited me home

to read poetry, she said,

to her invited guests.

I paled as I entered:

firefighters in uniform,

mailmen and UPS drivers,

flip-flopped teenagers

with cans of beer a-chug

but when her two pale sons

took me in hand

to the banquet table

I was charmed. Both food

and wine were exquisite.

Various hands touched me

from different directions

under the table.

I read my poems.

Some listeners swooned,

while others nodded off

into a stupored state.

The chamber music

was suddenly enhanced

by strange percussionists

and muted trumpets.

The brothers, one in front

and one behind me,

led me up stairs

toward their darkened

bedroom. Along one

corridor a line had formed:

men lounged, boys leered

as they eyed an open doorway.

The sounds inside

were unmistakable.

"Ignore that!" I was warned,

as warm lips kissed me.

"Mother is incorrigible!"

As I was pulled along, I saw

how the line extended

from their mother's door.

Those at the end

were younger than those

who jostled each other

to enter and have their way.

I swear the far ones

were no more than Boy Scouts.

Behind them stood --- dwarfs? --

no, the spitting images

of cartoon characters,

the Mouse, the Duck,

the Cat, the Rabbit

and with lewd smiles

and belts undone.

"This -- this!" I cried,

"is beyond prostitution!"

The last thing I saw,

as I was pulled

into welcome darkness

was the end of the line

where various household

appliances waited their turn,

wheezing and humming,

tallest among them

the upright vacuum cleaner.

The vacuum cleaner, my god,

even the vacuum cleaner?

At this I swooned

and had to be carried

to whatever it was

they had in mind for me.

I awoke in my own bed,

in clothing not my own.

Under the door,

another scarlet-fringed

envelope invited me.

Dare I go?