Disco Dick
Ya know–for the ladies.
A surreal satire poem about toxic masculinity, ego, and cultural performance—featuring a larger-than-life figure stuck mid-action in a moment of empty spectacle.
Disco Dick 08/31/2006 by David C. Roberson
He runs like white lightning across the rooftop, Mike Brady curls swept back, Red-faced, but cold and furrowed. Wing collar parted– Ya know–for the ladies. He meets the end of the roof, and— Flash! The action pose personified! He’s still suspended somewhere: Mainstream masculinity pinned mid-air, Measured grimace fully etched, eyes squinting, muscles flexed, disco bass thumping, And nothing has yet to happen.