In the city girls are having sex
with each other. Have they put a hex
on the men? If not, why don’t they pity
the men with whom they won’t sleep in the city?
They say it isn’t about pity, it’s
about wet pussies and their gorgeous tits.
Pity all the men who have been bolluxed,
confined in shells as if they had been mollusced.
Their private parts don’t even for one second
turn on the city girls who may be fecund.
What should the lonely men do with their boners?
Make money in a sperm bank, being donors.
8/29/08
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked this, what is more I didn't realize it was rhyming until I got about 3/4 the way through. What I mean is that it seemed effortless, didn't feel forced. Well done