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When I was a senior in High School,
They featured in front a large sign:
“Work Hard at Your Job
While Passions Still Throb –
Leave Your Legacy Behind.”

My classmates had always abhorred
This idea, which now they adored –
So I wriggled my hips
And, with magical wrists,
I jizzed all over those words.

I promised the ranting Headmaster
That the action was true of my class –
He denied it, the fiend:
“Your mark must be cleaned!”
So I pissed it off into the grass.

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Here I bask by a bright poolside
Watching a cute neighbor of mine
Dip poorly-painted toes in water
Too cold for her
And her buxumous chest.

This is the fifth time.
She’ll then walk about the edge,
Never getting in
Tugging at the butt of her racerback swimsuit
And forcing my ponderance on why she came to the pool
To not get in the pool.

Then I wonder if she’s showing off
To pick up lonely guys –
To lure away that cliche niche group
Who go for pouring thighs.

These are further ponderances –
Until I remember that “ponderance”
Is corrected in Microsoft Word as “penetrance,”
And so my ponders then call him.

Yes, there’s nothing I despise
More than precedented Wood;
That Willie’s stiff intent
Means my Will is now kaput.

This time, the boner hails me first
With pride in his salute –
“A boning state of mind, my friend,
Is mankind’s cursed repute.”

“Begone!” I say, and blow on it,
Which only makes it stronger.
“We’re at the pool, I’m watching a girl –
Cease your protrusion, dastardly donger!”

“You’re not watching the girl, you’re judging her
For not getting in the pool
When you yourself have lay here all day,
Only swimming in drool.”
“I came here to suntan!” – to parry his blow –
He shrugs it off with a thrust.
“If that was your game, you’d suntan at home
And forget the sweet sway of her bust.

That’s right, you adventurous voyeur;
Tits are the kick in your run!
What is life without light from an angelic face?
What is fun in the sun without buns?”

I concede that the boner is right, for once –
Beach sans bikinis? A bore.
So he and I watch her give five more attempts
‘Til she finally dives from tiled shore.

I rise to jump in and join her,
But his rise compels me to stay;
I had let that damned boner bask a little too long
And now his parasol’s pitched for the day.

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A comedy I am watching –
The family kind, moreso –
And I must say I’m laughing hard,
Which only brings me woe.
All alone in my apartment
This might be no big deal –
But the minute that he comes,
The distraction’s set in steel.

There’s nothing I despise
More than unprecedented Wood;
He pops up more often than not
Which is far more often than he should.

I’d like to know where I got this boner,
I say:
“Wherefore hail thy stoner demeanor?”
Offended as usual, and quickly taut,
It replies:
“How should I know, you perky twat?”

“Could it be from cotton rubbing your crotch?
Or the sudden effects of five cups of scotch?
Might be from the jittering of your car
Or even the pressure of bunk on my bar.
You get aroused so easily
That it’s almost most likely to be
Nothing at all but the nudes in your head
Or passing the women you’d like in your bed –
At least hearing their voices all from afar
Is enough to count me shot for the stars.

Though I don’t know what ails you,
I am sure of this truth, son:
A thousand things have set me off,
But sex certainly ain’t one.”

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