Hot Water Bottle Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Dressed
only in short shorts

I struggle
with the top of the hot water bottle

(what I originally tightened
I can’t for the life of me loosen)

“Bloody hell! ”
I grunt & groan & gasp.

Give it
one last
twist

Muscles tightening
with exertion

so much so
that

my shorts
fall down

and the top comes loose
and the water spurts out

as if I were
that peeing statue in Brussels.

I look at you looking at me.

“Now that…was a side reaction
you didn’t expect to see
every day of the night! ”

You nearly wet yourself
laughing.

“Guess I now know
why it is called a hot
water bottle! ”

I cover my modesty
with a now floppy hot water bottle.