(What, can’t a guy write a little poetry when the mood strikes him? In this case, the mood is a vague desire to write something, coupled with the knowledge that sleep deprivation and a red-wine hangover means I should avoid any of my more serious projects.)
There once was a girl
When she spoke, I would hurl
But her vagina was reasonably tight
She opened her mouth,
But my attention went south,
Where her breasts were looking quite nice
She would talk about work,
But since I’m a jerk,
I’d squeeze my hand over her lips.
She asked about my day,
But I just wanted a lay,
Not sarcasm, bad jokes and dry quips.
This woman would speak,
Noise poured from her beak,
Apparently with no end in sight.
I yelled “Keep your mouth shut!”
“I’m just here for a nut!”
“Woman, you must not be very bright!”
After I’d shouted,
She sulked and she pouted
And said, “You know, I’m really quite smart!”
So I patted her head,
Threw her down to the bed,
And gave her some love – almost a quart.
She couldn’t harangue,
After so thorough a bang,
So I explained to her serotonin-addled brain:
“I know that you’re bright,”
In your day-to-day life,
Compared to most of these dames.”
“I know that at work,
You’re much more than a clerk,
But with me, keep your tongue and your lips tightly furled.
“For here in this bed,
And keeping me fed,
Is where you fit in to my world.”