On The Dangers Of Not Being A Tits, Bum Or Leg Man Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Slowly you open
each Mother of Pearl blouse button

and ask me
(as if this were a serious discussion)

“Do you like my tits..? ”
(it’s as if... there is a question mark at the end of an ellipsis
in your voice)

& then
(without giving me time for an answer)

you turn around
and pull up your skirt

“...or my bottom best? ”

I say “I’m sorry... what was the question again? ”

You frown
and I try to ponder the dilemma.

I love the display
the showing me the “bits”

just in case(you know) I had
forgotten what or where they were.

I’m only old...not senile.

Oh! I’m coming over all dizzy.

I ask can I go 50/50
and you scowl at me.

(“Come on down...come on down! ”
“Open the box...don’t open the box! ”
echoes inside me from the fabled land of faded telly) .

You accuse me of not taking this seriously.

Seriously...I am.

“Your bottom
(as you so politely put it)
is tops with me! ”

“But then...your top
is tops too! ”

“I can’t(I tell you)
break you into bits! ”

“I...I...love
the whole package! ”

“I love you
& the you I love
just happens to be
attached to
all these attractive bits! ”

“Oh...you never give me a straight answer! ”
You pout and put it all away.

“Oooooooooooooooooh! ”

You slouch
around the house

annoyed that I’m
not a bums or tits or leg man.

Next time
I think I’ll lie

and tell you(in truth) I’m more
the crease behind your left knee type of guy.

Guess...

I’m just your man

and I love a whole lot
of you

a lot.