Ball Sac (Dan Melling)

An old man comes into the pub, stumbling. 

I say Got to take your temperature, mate and hold the thermometer gun to his head. 

I pull the trigger and he shouts BANG! Jerks his heads back. 

He’s too drunk, he falls into a table, knocks over a bottle of hand sanitiser. 

He says Am I hot? 

I say No, mate, cold

The old man pulls his dick out of the top of his trousers and spins his cock and balls around like

a sack of flour. 

He says Measure this then

He’s laughing with his mouth wide open. 

His top gum only has one tooth. 

A gold tooth. 

All the others have rotted away leaving only this gold one as memorial to a time he could afford dental work. 

I think about his mouth as it would have been. 

Piecing it together like an ancient Roman city where all but the most solid monuments have crumbled away. 

In my head, I reconstruct his smile in middle age. 

Nicotine teeth with one gold glinting. 

I recreate him as a young man, flashing white teeth at young women. 

I see him as a schoolboy, teeth missing waiting to grow back and I see him as a baby, his mouth fertile ground waiting to be built on. 

He’s like a baby now. 

A drunk baby with a gold tooth, swinging his cock and balls around in a pub doorway on a Thursday afternoon. 

He’s like a giggling baby, proud of his new dick. 

Because his laughing makes everything funny, I hold the thermometer to his ball sac. 

Nah, man, even colder I say. 

Well shiiiit, says the old man and walks out into the sunshine.


Drink: The Immaculate Conception:

Prepare a Baby Guinness (float a layer of Bailey’s on top of a shot of Tia Maria). Drop into a pint of Guinness. Drink immediately, in one, to minimise clotting. 


Dan Melling is a poet and prose writer, originally from the UK. He holds an MFA in poetry from Virginia Tech University. His work has appeared in Juked, X-R-A-Y, Fanzine and others. He sometimes tweets at @melling_dan.


image: MM Kaufman