Goodbye, good riddance,
there’ll be no reminiscence
of our coexistence
as you kept me distant
from my pump and piston
teenage ambition,
thwarting all my exertion
with your inertia,
striving like a researcher
or a tough-nurtured
street urchin
to keep me a virgin.
Rot in hell! Or a surgeon’s
pickle jar. An emergency,
it was. I was in purgatory,
like nature had erred with me.
Life was absurdity.
I preferred it
and could applaud it
once that sordid
operation I rewarded
myself with was all sorted
and I floated
like a slow-moving boat
down the road
with a load
of cotton wool stowed
in my pants, and I woke
each morning fit to choke
from pain, penis poking
heavenwards, groaning,
for two weeks postponing
the sin of Onan,
but free from that moment!
You cruellest of opponents,
lower than rodents,
goodbye, shalom, good riddance.
