My Little Pal On The Icq Poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri

The last time I saw her on the net
She was still growing milk teeth
Strands from her tufted hair
Danced on her pretty forehead
She wore her unspoilt innocence
On the lambent parting of her hair.


She now talks of man-woman stuff
In the morning she sits on my icq panel
Like the little blue-green bird of summer
Which sat on my parapet wall of balcony
Heaving her meager body as she sang.


A frayed uncle of full forty years
Wants yellowed sleaze on the sly.


What should she do, with a lustful man,
Who wolf-whistles in the silences of the net
All she needs is a little gurgling brother
A bundle of shrieking flesh in mother's lap
Or a freckled school-boy brother in shorts
Not a leathery-skinned lecher of an icq pal.


Take my son, my dear, hold his hands
Walk into the freedom of the mountains
These little blackberries taste no sweet
Although they bleed and redden your palms
And their bushes have piercing thorns.