Poem About Nuts
Dear sweet scrota. You have suffered in my jokes
and for that I am sorry. Little nut bags, I have subjected you
to jokes about shrinkage and rhymes about size. Those colorful nicknames
you have in the modern vernacular—kibbles & bits, bangers & mash,
red bliss potatoes—always make me smile. How rude of me!
You serve a purpose, which is more than I can say for the appendix,
the avocado, and the giraffe. You are servants to your master,
who doesn’t always think with his head. And that joke I made
about the boys on their way to see the Pope … my apologies.
That was just wrong.
Copyright 2006 January G. O'Neil