...lie perfectly content under khakis,
but under jeans, not so much.
They make it easy to pee and
I even remember a girl friend
pulling them down with glee.
Now I pull them down
I see a pudge of flesh
from 21 years
of sitting behind a desk.
Dropping them over a right knee
there's still a gash
left over from a Yamaha 600
motorcycle crash.
Freckles on my thighs
never let me lie
that some of my hidden hairs
are red.
Tartan patch boxers
stolen by a one night stand.
Quid pro quo?
I don't think so.
A sister-in-law announced
over Xmas dinner
I'd spend my last $50
on a pair of green silk boxers.
Maybe, they've been with me
since the army deemed
they fit me
but I'd add
a red Olde English
monogram.
If it's all the same
to those who bury me
I would only ask
you prepare me
in Logsdail itchy wool boxers.
An eternity
I swear...
Must come
with some debonair
and I hope someone in Heaven
will scratch me.
PLEASE tell me we get a photo of you in your boxers to accompany this post!
ReplyDeletePercy, Send me $500 and I'll do it
ReplyDeleteI'll give you $5 CDN and a box of Smarties. Deal?
ReplyDeleteGleefully. ME
ReplyDeletePercy- Carton of Export As & a case of Blue?
ReplyDeleteME - I hope.
A glass of maple syrup and a tiny poutine. Final offer.
ReplyDeletePercy- I can't sell my art for that.
ReplyDeleteOh, you're too rich for my blood!
ReplyDeletePercy,
ReplyDeleteIf you're gonna drink with the big boys, you gotta get up with the big boys. Having said that, I'm still in bed.
In my defense, I'm a poor, poor society/social chronicler/writer in Toronto!
ReplyDelete(www.pasqualecasullo.com)
Interesting thoughtts
ReplyDelete