Sixty Nine’s In Love Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

See him approach the object of his affection
Boldly he asserts “I am Here! ”
The others move away making a path
For their master to have his way.

For one so big,
He moves easily with
The grace of a ballet dancer
Mincing steps.

Then he is near;
Near enough to smell
The libido enhancing message
“Yes, he can have his sway! ”

With caution to avoid any untoward moves
He gazes into the shuttered lights
Glancing, seeming to be drawn in.
The mirror briefly reflects his image
Before he turns it down and away,
The looking glass cannot possibly
Hold him in proper focus.

Then as is his nature,
He moves deliberately
To the region of the body anatomy
That must be addressed.

He bangs gently at first
Then with great vigor,
He seems intent
On putting things in their proper place.

Making right that which is wrong.
He bangs his poll only
To have it come down,
Crashing down again and again.

In frustration, he is too forceful
And instead of yielding to his impulses
It is stuck, wedged half way
(Or half way down, if you prefer.)

Trying again and again to dislodge the tailgate
He fails and, as if to say, “Enough is enough, ”
I’ll come another day when you are more receptive
He rambles off to seek his harem.

Such is the bull’s love for the old Ford 150 pickup truck.
(And I must remember to park the truck somewhere outside the bull’s pasture to avoid having to reset the mirrors and unjam the tailgate the next day. Sixty nine is the number on the ear tag which he wears.)





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