"Ass He Is"

One more parody. This one's on W. H. Auden's "As He Is".


ASS HE IS



Wrapped in a Gas Station flag beside
The flower's noiseless foot-odor,
Close to tree's bark like a sailor's rectal hide,
Close to the bird's phlegmatic schnozzer,
Loud in his dementia and clotted dorsal hair,
Erect like a secret porn-decoder,
Stands the oppressive tosser,
Stands the tree corn-holer.

Beneath the hot tobasco stain,
Past puzzled beasts who linger
He picks his nose, he can't abstain
With swizzle-stick and toothpick,
With whittling stick and fern-branch,
With arrow and index finger,
He finds a crusty, it makes him sick,
And he feels like a country singer.

The friendless and unhated sap
Licks his nose and cries in his beard
And falls to the ground and has a nap,
The botched One in the airless dale
Whose family have taught him
To fret and swoon till he's really skeered,
The timely fool with skin so pale
As he snores like a babboon so weird.

For this one's fading hopes become
The scraps for a dull wife in the pantry
Who dolls herself up, emphasizing bum,
But she won't betray him, oh no,
For his harem is dry as a termite's ass,
So she puts on her floppy panties
And waits for him in the bedroom, ho ho,
Her gelatinous posterior in thong so scanty.

He keeps on snoring by the deadwood tree
By pious breath now gurgling
As he opens bloodshot eyes and cannot see
The sun so quick to setting,
While his wife knits her pubic hair into the shape
Of Captain Kangaroo, but someone's burgling
The house, now I'm betting
Soon she'll be cooing in passionate burbling.