Guarder of the Nectar
The red-throated hummingbird
perches on a branch near the patio
feeder, providing daily company
as I peruse my morning paper.
As other hummers fly close,
they are quickly chased
away in a blur of flight
by the defending sentinel.
Hour after hour, day after day,
he guards his territory, bolting
after any intruder who might
threaten his personal supply.
Until—the day she flies by—
the only one to make his manly
heart beat faster. Only his lady love
is allowed to hover, drink her fill.
Is her chirp a sweeter tone?
Her feathers a deeper sheen?
Her wing span more alluring?
Her beak tilt a touch more dainty?
Pushing aside my newspaper filled
with ongoing articles of the worldwide
pandemic, I consider the wiles
that won his heart.
Pondering such fragile ideas,
my thoughts take
wing, and
fly away.
My Toe
I have a sexy toe,
a very sexy toe.
You will not believe
how very sexy
is my toe.
It wasn’t always so
that I’ve had a sexy toe.
It had a little hump
and I tried to shave that bump
until red began to show.
Infection grew below
and around my saddened toe.
I took antibiotic,
but sepsis waged chaotic—
with pain my poor toe glowed.
To hospital to and fro
I took my weepy toe.
Doctor said “You must heal faster.
A skin graft I can master!
With a needle I will sew.”
I asked, “You will fix my toe,
in its sorry state of woe
with the skin from a cadaver?”
He said, “No, I would rather
not use cadaver for your toe.”
“I need soft skin for your toe.
Skin sweet as a Beauty rose.
I’ll use a baby’s foreskin,
yes, I said a little foreskin!
which on your toe will grow.”
I have a foreskin on my toe,
a fucking foreskin on my toe!
If you’ve never seen one,
maybe you can get one.
It’s a very sexy toe.
And it’s the big one . . .
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