Apropos of Monkey Penis

— Thanksgiving, 2006

Spatchcocked, ectopic,
modified and sebaceous:
Monkey Penis Sausage
and Schmookums on Thanksgiving ...



arriving with their children,
J. Penis, Scrotum,
Doodiekins . . .



and Debbie ...




singing “Happy Birthday, Cowboy Sally!/
Your penis is three inches /
And leaves a short flavor.”
Cutiegoo made advances
toward the timid monkey aunts
seated on toilets by the table . . .




What he wanted was freedom;
what he got was monkey penis.
Moopsieface placed
crocheted granny square blankets
at the feet of a boy prostitute . . .




Moogliepie mixed the concrete
grinning, applying lipstick.
Pookieboo straddled his giant hose
spewing frogs, saints and little Davids
into the vacant blue spaces
of Foofiecake's naivete . . .




It was a cultural thing:
the Nookumboos wanted
the moon's asbestos
a glimpse of something infinite
like the President's address
and pieces of my own excrement.
Cuddlelips loved looking
“exactly like a kumquat" . . .




and needed a huge vat of penicillin
just to clean her monkey.
I greeted Mushyboobie’s mother
by screaming,
"Afternoon, penis!” ...




with my lips on “Missy Dolly,”
the obese proboscis monkey.
As usual "Walter" was still Walter —



a bone from the penis of a walrus,
a gift perfectly suitable
for anyone named Mao.
But Brett Favre? ...




Revolutionary?
With his penis in a zipper?



Then came the monkey penis fights ...




with Andres Serrano impersonators ...




testes hanging out of
spangled lamé jumpsuits.
It’s too bad the monkey penises
got mangled by
all those Lovecraftian references.
My own penis remains a locus
of cheeky brassy monkeys.