POEM # 13

And ode to all the women
I’ve known and loved
Who have wrapped me in their pleasure
Who have honored me with their lust

Never was it a husband and wife matter
No were any of us merely shacking up
They were lovers true who
Gave me their trust

So much the easier was it then
To mount a farce again and again
No one expects the nice guy
To slip them something on the sly

I speak not of roofies
Nor sleeping potion in their gin
For I wouldn’t offend with
Tricks so ordinary and plain

But I did pass them something
Which they soon learned
Caused a rash and a sharp
Tickling pain

And maybe when they had seen
A physician and after the rash
Had been treated, its mark by then
Mere scabs

Did they realize that all along
I had been the cause of discomfort
For you see trusting reader
I have crabs