Cupping
Ah! So now I take requests
Apparently.
You, sure and certain state the importance
Of male genetalia
in poetry!
Though six beers down
(And did we not frown!)
You could state the world was flat much the same
It needs some balls! You exclaim,
And point, finger unsteady.
You! Your poetry! It needs some scrotum!
Laughing, I agree
Safer than argument I felt.
Nutter. I laugh.
Who needs accepted decorum?
And so I write this rubbish,
For who am I to displease a fan?
Colour me flattered
That my main deficit is the lack
Of testicular imagery!
Is that concrete enough?
Press me no further!
They are a tender subject,
And I will not expose them
To the cold air of poetry!
It could get me arrested for one,
And it’s hardly their best light.
While musing on loins,
I wonder if those poor
Greco-Roman statues remember
Their missing stone sacks?
Do they, (all the while home to pigeon excrement)
Gaze to heaven with tears forever in mind,
Never leaving their eye?
Ah, Bollocks!
I’ll leave this madness at once,
And write on greater things,
(Modesty is ever my companion)
Not sure I'll be able to eat those meatballs in the fridge now.
