Tinkle Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

She saw him
in the paddock,
had put his tools
and wire down,
to take a breather.
While doing that
he let the old fellow,
trusty appendage,
have his relief,
and rain fell unto ground
that had expected
but given up
its long-held hope
some thoughts ago.

It strangely,
unexpectedly
turned her,
the lady of the church
into a salivating,
and humming,
scaredy bird
of sexual titillation.

She turned her
modest shoes,
a pair of
hand-me-down
green Birkenstocks
toward the temple.

And when the tinkling ceased
one was aware of
the urgent patter of
those pious feet.
All sounds then stopped
inside the sanctuary,
where thoughts
and small perceptions
can be measured,
only to be judged
by dire threats
of fire and
damnation.

She smiled then,
at the thought of
putting out the fire
by sensual drops
of welcome rain,
so seldom seen.