I spend my days drinking beneath
the bar’s plasma screen, checking out
the Czech waitress, all tits and teeth.
And when I hear someone splitting hairs,
antsy with a world of cares about the rights
and wrongs of the war, or whether
the fulltime score fairly reflected the game,
I wade in and tell them ‘pity the man
unsure of his name’, then leave them
to brood, secure in my manhood.
I pay my way, walk out to the carpark,
and with my right hand I grip my Adam’s whip,
my hazel wand, my straw-haired vagabond,
my Pirate of Penzance, my lilac love lance,
my ramrod, my wad, my schlong, my tube, my tonk,
my Jimmy, my Johnny, my tarse, my verge, my honk,
my bishop, my pawn, my rook, my king, my knight,
my chairman of the board, my stranger in the night,
my Gonzo, my Kermie, my Bert, my Ernie,
my weenie, my weener, my Mr Misdemeanour,
my chopper, my boffer, my chantilly lace-loving big bopper,
my porridge pipe, my yellow and ripe
banana, my iguana, my nerve-ends of Nirvana,
my snuffer, my chuffer, my duffer, my stuffer,
my Black and Decker, my donut inspector,
my dickery-dock, my Geronimo’s tomahawk,
my tinkle, my sprinkle, my Rip Van Winkle,
my Mad Max, my Crazy Mick, my dip-, my wiggle-, my pogo-stick,
my hawk, my dove, my love-
bomb bazooka, my squinty-eyed scheming pooka,
my Chief Whip, my guv, my middle man in the transactions of love,
my hootchie-cootchie tickler, my sporty little ripper,
my virginia creeper, my heat seeker,
my Best, my Law, my Charlton, my Stiles,
my volatile erstwhile fertile mobile projectile,
my d’Artagnan, my explorer of the canyon,
my saxophone, my knick-knack-paddy-whack, my dog and my bone,
my saucisson, my saveloy, my knackwurst, my donger,
my Pinocchio’s nose growing longer, and longer,
my high and flighty piccolo, my ‘just popped out to say hello’,
my Hans Solo, my Marco Polo, is this the way to Amarillo?,
my zoot-suited rooter, my hooter, my trusty pee-shooter,
my custard marrow, my Zeno’s arrow, my submarine descending the abyssal plain’s narrows,
my Emperor Ming, my Lord of the Rings,
my pintle, my pizzle, my bringer of the drizzle,
my Spade, my Holmes, my Marlowe, my Wimsey,
my dawn-raid, my dome, my sparrow, my flip-flop-flimsy,
my sweet disorder in the dress, my six-million dollar man (more or less),
my Viceroy, my land ahoy, my wild colonial boy,
my noble Lord issuing like Radiant Hesper when his golden hayre in th’Ocean billowes he hath Bathed fayre,
my busker in the subway, my folksinger, my ring-a-ling-a-ding-dong-dinger,
my tomatoes and cucumber, my lucky bingo number,
my blubber, my flubber, my slippy-dippy rubberdubber,
my pepperoni rollarama, my wildebeest grazing on the plains of the savannah,
my great rooted blossomer, my limp father of thousands,
my bearded iris that brought forth buds, and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds,
my curious Hobbit, my John Wayne Bobbit;
and with my goose-pimpled bum against my Nissan’s bonnet,
my one-eyed zipper fish blows an angel’s kiss
as I hit-and-miss into the tax disc of the sun.