I Was Going To Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I was writing a poem when five little men
came over to see me at quarter to ten.
A cute little bird, irresistible bait,
tagged along and was tired, well you see it was late.

So I draped her in covers and I sent the men home
and she smiled and said, darling bring the Barbasol foam.
And the night turned to labour as I shaved her quite close
with my straight-razor saber, in her home-birthing pose.

I have always been steady with my hands and my mind
but the fragrance turned heady and I dared not unwind.
Then she asked me, a stranger, would the eating of eggs
through cholesterol's danger, ruin the skin on her legs.

I must say undertaking this procedure in bed
who could look at the stompers, in politeness, instead? !
And I soon had a vision, where Mount Pubis was shaved
but I ran out of foam then and her jungle was saved.

So you see what can come when intentions are good
I was sipping dark rum and I thought that I could
make a poem to please you, but the time just ran out,
and today I can't write, as my thumb has the gout.