Dirty Limericks

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I’m testing today to see if anyone is paying attention.

Writing about my undergraduate English professor on Monday got me thinking about my college days. I was lucky enough to fall in with a group of friends who were tolerant of various types of experimentation. They allowed me the space to do things like stop shaving my legs and armpits. I went through a phase where I wore the same white, men’s t-shirt for a couple of weeks. I wore a lot of men’s clothes, in fact. I became mildly obsessed with post-modernism. And of course, there was all the drinking and all the interesting places I ended up after I’d been drinking.

At some point in there I had a conversation with a friend about poetry. It was all so serious, he said, and almost always about women. Why weren’t there any poems about, for example, penises? Why not, indeed? So, I composed some penis poems. Luckily for you, I still remember them. Feel free to add your own.

postmodernism-sbcimpactnetHow do you care for your unit?
Is a fork required to tune it?
When pinched, are you pained?
Does it need to be drained?
Is a haunting fear that you’ll ruin it?

 
This story might strike you as wrong
But will certainly not take too long
My subject grows tired
And is quickly expired
I’m speaking, of course, of the schlong.

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Comments

  1. I am in awe.

    I have a newfound respect for you, my dear friend!

  2. Douglas Perry says:

    In the same spirit, though not a limerick, Robert Graves’ Down, Wanton, Down! is a masterpiece of phallocentric wit.

    Thanks for all the poems you shared this month, high and low.

  3. Leonardo of Vinci says:

    Hehe. Wah, Penis poems. Can’t get over this one. “Is a fork required to tune it?”

    I would take your penis poems any day, say, over… The Waste Land. Short, sweet, and likely to put a smile on my face.

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