I think it was lauraw who recently remarked that poetry was “queer.” She might have said “gay” or “flaming.” The exact words don’t matter all that much–the fact of the matter is that poetry has long been seen–and rightly so–as the province of mincing, lisping sissyboys. I mean, just check out this photo of T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound:
“A bang AND a whimper, am I right, Tommy?”
“Oh, shut up and Pound me, Ezra!”
Well, that got me to thinking about what could be done to make poetry a more manly art. And it wasn’t long until I was sidetracked by the thought of railing your mom. Because, truth be told, all this poetic thinking had me feeling a little funny. Then–EUREKA!–the thought struck me like a thunderbolt: Let’s put the peanut butter of your mom in the chocolate of poetry and see if those two great tastes go great together. Probably not, but this is what I came up with anyway…
Speak, muse, and tell of a lover oh so nasty
That to put to words our time together
In Summer’s heat and colder weather
Leaves language wanting, requiring a vastly
More graphic and inventive idiom.
I refer, O gentle reader, to thy mom.
To said Summer’s day (or Eve) I’d never
Bother to compare her—no, of course not!
Summer shivers compar’d with ass that hot!
Besides, ‘twould be oh so much more clever
To tell thee of her icy, limpid gaze
As I apply coat upon coat of glaze.
Our first encounter—in the quaintest spot!
It happened that I met her in the Sears
Where she’s bought thy husky clothes these many years.
Our eyes locked; it was as if I’d been shot.
I steered her past the gaze of shopping fools
And nailed her hard among the Craftsman tools.
She giggled as I nibbled on her ears
And sighed as I traced kisses down her chest.
What happened next—the less that’s said is best.
I will just say the mall banned us for years.
We don’t want to go back there anyway—
We dented up a Kenmore fridge display!
I think it wise to bring this poem to rest
Ere it becomes any much more X-rated
And jangled nerves are further agitated.
I’ve already stirred up quite the hornet’s nest!
Run along now, slugger. And don’t feel bad:
Thou hast lost thy mom but gained in me a dad.
Okay, so that was pretty manly, right?
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