Poppycock
Poppies bursting forth
shed that unshaven look,
a young man’s fuzz
already scenting out
the way to girls
tickling not prickling
short and stubby
hardly poking out
though slowly imperceptibly
it grows
and in the gills a dingy
mid-green tinge
of a faint reminder
of a night’s excess
hints of the bile
that lies behind
each cavity
oozing to come out
that shade of hairy green
bush hair
open to public view
where I have placed it
in a vase in centre-piece position
The buds seem firmly closed
but just a little blast of sun
fresh water
a judicious snipping
here and there, and
those thistly sideburns all
abandon morning shadow
to display instead of
dull green and brown –
come-blackish edgings,
a plethora of shocking pinks
and yellow peach white scarlet
orange party frocks
cross-dressing,
billowing up to welcome
in the show
kicking their legs
their petticoats a twirl
(Marilyn on the air vent)
to parade the laden yellow stamens
underneath
blossoming forth in hope
their perfume spilling
out, all eager teenagers
ready to drop their petals whoops!
one going as we watch
at a moment’s shudder, at the merest
smidgen of suggetion
“shall I? will you? yes!”
and another one wafts down
another
leaving the flower head
practically topless
Cross-fertilization,
sprinking their
pheremonal substance everywhere
the scent of yellow stamens crow
and in the centre one
inviting circle
look closer at the stamens
ready heads
like stags, their antlers out on show
each holds erect
a yellow powder on
the tip, which glistens as it moves
and which if you should brush against
forget ejaculation forget come
it will transfer itself
no sperm is more persistent
yet in the midst of this tumescence
lies the softest cushion
beckoning
oh come on
down and sink yourself
in me
on one thrust beyond
the spongey surface
and you’re inside oh
the pleasure of the
chase the rush
to grab that next
elusive moment
and that next, that next
that nearly to be now
that never lasts
but is this really
one of those interiors
that will expand
to fit invited members
shaping contours
and ballooning out
delight and emptiness
at every push and
shove oh let me in
my fairy or is it only
yet another party frock
a mockery. Look closer
and behind the sponge
you see holding it in place
another cup of hair
downy but firm
presenting to you
the whole firework
show bam
thank you ma’am
oh
Page(s) 9-12
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