by Paula Harris

Medusa was sent dozens of them every day, men trying to prove their manliness by tempting, seducing and then fucking a monster. Fucking the sea god’s conquest! There’s something to tell your mates about. I know, you probably wouldn’t expect that, but that’s what some men are like. It didn’t work out for any of them, obviously.

They send them to Aphrodite too, but that’s no surprise. She’s changed her number dozens of times, but still the dick pics keep coming. Everyone wants the goddess of love to love their penis, to give it her seal of approval. Paris sent her a dick pic, which she hated, like she hates all of them, but she swallowed her nausea and sent him a reciprocal pic and got herself the Golden Apple. Narcissistic little prick. Helen of Troy was much more impressed by his dick pic, obviously.

It took eons before Athena got her first dick pic. Perhaps men were too afraid that she’d hack their dicks off in disgust. But she’s a visual person. Goddess of the arts, after all. She recognises beauty in many things. Including penises. If she had a husband, she definitely would ask him to send her dick pics if he was going away for extended periods of time. Postcards and dick pics, that’s what she’d ask for.

That first one was a masterpiece, just the introduction you want. A well-chosen angle. Excellent lighting, even if she suspected that was more accidental than intentional. A relaxed environment, although carefully curated. A truly beautiful penis, nicely proportioned, well filled out, definitely worthy of sharing. She spent an entire day looking at it. It made her feel warm inside, so that night she had to rub up against one of the columns at her temple at Acropolis. The roof crumbled a little. She never got around to fixing it.

More dick pics followed. There are pics with strap-ons sent too. Not all meet the standard set by that first one. Some she replies to with suggestions on how they could light things better, a more flattering angle, please don’t include your face in the photo, no one wants to see that. Some she deletes straight away and then goes back to that first one to help with purging the bad ones from her mind.

On Friday nights she and Apollo compare their best and worst of the week. Everyone wants their dick to be seen by the sun.

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Paula Harris lives in Aotearoa/New Zealand, where she writes and sleeps in a lot, because that's what depression makes you do. She won the 2018 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize and the 2017 Lilian Ida Smith Award. Her writing has been published in various journals, including Hobart, Berfrois, Queen Mob's Teahouse, The Rialto, Barren, SWWIM, Diode, Glass, Aotearotica and The Spinoff. She is extremely fond of dark chocolate, shoes and hoarding fabric. website: www.paulaharris.co.nz | Twitter: @paulaoffkilter | Instagram: @paulaharris_poet | Facebook: @paulaharrispoet

by Paula Harris

Butterflies in my pants
Got ants in my heart
Supergroove “You Freak Me”


bees in the belfry
bats in my bonnet

a drop in the rough
a diamond in the ocean

hell in a pod
peas in a handbasket

true fact:
one of Saturn’s moons
looks like a round ravioli
(not a square one)

all that glitters cannot change its spots
a leopard is not gold

a little knowledge is a joy forever
a thing of beauty is a dangerous thing

in for a barn door, in for a pound
shutting the penny after the horse has bolted

true fact:
the average cloud weighs
the same as 83 elephants
(a small cloud is 2 elephants)

let’s press into shape
come, lick me into service

let’s make pie while the sun shines
come, be my hay in the sky

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Paula Harris lives in New Zealand, where she writes poems and sleeps in a lot, because that's what depression makes you do. She won the 2018 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize and the 2017 Lilian Ida Smith Award. Her writing has been published in various journals, including Berfrois, Queen Mob's Teahouse, The Rialto, Barren, SWWIM Every Day, Diode, Glass, Aotearotica, The Spinoff, and Landfall. See more at www.paulaharris.co.nz.

by Paula Harris

I cannot possibly actually meet someone as lovely as you comma can I query

I am mad to think you really look at me like you are so happy stop

So happy stop

So you must not exist query

So you must not exist stop

Maybe I really am as happy as I think comma but maybe I never left the house stop

Maybe I am lying in bed comma dreaming stop

I am a daydreamer stop

Sorry that I call you my lover comma I know it might make you uncomfortable stop

But you are not my boyfriend and I do not want to call you that guy who I am fucking stop

And comma imaginary or not comma you have loved my body right on down stop

Maybe the reason your beard never tickles me is that it does not exist because you do not exist stop

Maybe comma when you do talk comma you always say the right things because I am saying them stop

Maybe the reason the sex is exactly how I have always wanted sex to be is because it is all in my imagination stop

My imagination definitely knows how I like to be touched comma but imaginary you finds some new things with me stop

Fuck comma I love the way you kiss stop

Do not stop kissing me stop

Do not stop stop

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Paula Harris lives in New Zealand, where she writes poems and sleeps in a lot, because that's what depression makes you do. She won the 2018 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize and the 2017 Lilian Ida Smith Award, and her chapbook, i make men like you die sweetly, will be published in September 2019 by dancing girl press. Her poetry has been published in various journals, including Berfrois, Queen Mob's Teahouse, Poetry NZ Yearbook, Snorkel, The Spinoff and Landfall. She is extremely fond of dark chocolate, shoes and hoarding fabric. She tweets randomly at @paulaoffkilter.