January 30, 2018

Poetry: “Flick”

Warning: the following poem contains crude humor, sexual situations, and adult content. Reader discretion is advised.

Bobby found a postcard
Signed in flash-fried fat —
Leftover lard
Makes durable ink, at that;
Better than a teaspoon’s worth
Of Mammy’s namby-pamby,
Or the brandy Bobby fancies
Stashed beneath the bathroom sink,
Alongside off-brand bleach.
(In case of emergency,
Serve a dram of Drain-O
To les terroristes).

Stalactites poise to impale
Bodies flung from second-story
(Total fail!);
Gutbuckets upturned
To catch the gushing hail
Of chitlins-in-waiting,
The fanatics of chick-hating.

Crossbones crosswords
Crossbreed purebreds,
And Bobby’s hands never rest.
That fortified fiber’s moving quick!
Slice it like a banana,
And split the slender bits.

Petri dish specimens
Pressure-cook in Plasticine;
Commingle in morbidity
Spazzing out,

Bobby’s shots of sneaking through
Tarred feathers increase,
When he holds lifesaver hearts
Tethered to Bowser’s leash.
They keep him buoyant
In sulphurous magma —
Donations of plasma —
Razzmatazz, Ma!

But the toll-fed departed
Cry hunger for a fee;
This ringside seat
Ain’t selling for free.

I don’t know about you,
But I hawked my ticket.
So take your big ol’ bean in hand,
And flick it.


© Jane Bled 2016-2018
All Rights Reserved. 

The Naughty Finger