The Perpetrator Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He was a stubborn one,
no one could tell him things,
and, like a cranky Swiss,
he made new rules for man,
which, naturally, applied as well
to those who would be fine
inside hot kitchens and near stoves,
a boy at heart, he'd overcome
the 'vulgar' side of human life,
he shunned all words and gestures,
the innocence of eyes and fleeting touch,
and saw all films in black and lily white,
yet when she stuffed his ancient pipe
with loving hands, he felt a stir,
she'd lit the fire deep inside his heart,
and melted ice and granite stone
so it became a lava pump at last,
hot molten endocrine abyss,
it filled a void so vast, and overflowed
and for a century the flesh was weak and glowed.