Plainly, we’re surrounded. Nothing escapes,
No matter how benign. For loving words
(The flesh of poetry) generate japes,
Create expectations wholly absurd!
Down at the paddle tennis courts, a girl
Joined me on my favorite bench and asked,
“Written any poems this week?” Her pearly
Skin, flushed with youth, left me bemused and tasked.
Though pride’s a famous sin, I must confess
I swelled a bit, declaimed my latest wit.
That earned a pout—“You write of Nat’lie’s flesh,
Andrea’s ass, and Lisa’s depth and tits,
For pity’s sake, ‘midst all your sassy glee,
Why can’t you write some verses about me?”
(8/12/12)