I recall long days when I‘d moon for a mate
In vacant fields in ratty robe in nasal funk,
Then stuff cheesy verse in the collection plate
With mud packs, burritos, and shellfish spunk.
The homestead is quiet, in terror I hear
My ileocecal valve gurgle, complain.
Ten years ago, last date I had (how queer)
I showed up at her door riding a Great Dane.
Loafing in loafers, cornjug filling with silt;
Wrapped tightly in a multiple-bunny quilt.
Deploy my thoughts for a cornered Father.
Frisk my drawers for a condom for Helen. Bother!
Here’s Henry Hopping Toad over meadows gaily
With crucifix of my pix I googled daily.
I fondle my uvula. Here’s to better times.
Tonsils washed with Kiwi fur, leather face with lime.
Catty tracts blow in malarial fugue
Under my holy roof, I press a Synth Moog
Of stolen church keys, dissonant and drear.
‘In The Bleak Midwinter’ the apt hymn each year.
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