A Peep Poem by Warren Andersen

i say young lady
with the fermentation of modern minds
you seem to be devising a new type wine

i see, your so mellow
at the pinnacle of relaxation
languishing in lascivious declination

reaching there in your undershorts
thrusting with fifty percent of maximum force

i say good sir
with the type of folk in the world today
you seem to think it moderately okay

to spy, amongst the blinds
as the climax is reached in time
eyes unfocused as yours or mine

release that branch, that pillar of virility
tumble and smash your nuts so bad
that you no longer walk with stability