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Poem

CLOSE    CALL   IN    IRELAND



I once had an affaire de coeur  with a foxylady, in fact a randy colleen
In Ireland with a tough older brother looking to punch me out.
But I cold cocked the rambunctious  hooligan, 
A real  old blowhard who knew diddly squat  about fighting.
Oh yeah, he had some mickey mouse  gizmo like a nunchaku
But he was a shilly shallying,  vacillating sort of bloke, 
A tightwad  nitpicker  full of  quintessential  balderdash 
(To put it politely),  
And I just lambasted  his ass.    But,  you know, with hindsight
He did almost usurp  my dubious position with his sister.
Actually I rather think he was an incest-freak,
A what-you-might-call  weirdo trying to insert himself sneakily
Into her good books, (and maybe also my  gay books).
In formal language he was an aged  interstitial  gender-bender .
This stupid  old codger tried to seduce me as well as her.
I didn’t acquiesce, didn’t  dilly-dally  hither and yon,  
Like some  ethereal dancer doing a glissade.
In the midst of an abso-bloody-lutely   horrendous  
Wingding of a drunken celebration
The pinch penny  tried to titillate me 
With his  whole second-hand collection of pictures,
A great caboodle  of pornography:     
And that easy  rider fuzzled me  later in  a jimjam party
And almost brought me out of the closet.
He was some Tallulah,  let me tell you. . . . wow!

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NOTE
Almost the entire poem should be highlighted for 
it contains every word on the given list
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Entered in  Debbie Guzzi’s  Contest       For Love of Language

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