The Vanishing Organ
Sam Ebenezer
a sad ol' geezer
was lamenting his shrinkage of late:
my worthless ding-a-ling
is a bell without ring
my manhood in diminishing state
From whence I salute
is thin as a flute
and soft to the touch as cashmere
I search with persistence
it offers resistance
on nature's call to appear
On heeding that call
no waterfall
a few errant droplets at best
where once from the middle
I gushed, now I piddle
and half of my load veers west
Both feet on the urn
pushing forth from astern
I chant 'emerge hocus-pocus'
with my punctured esteem
watch the pitiful stream
dwindle to drops as Limp loses focus
Our wee-membered friend
wished his size to amend
the stiffness rerouted from his joints
have it rise to occasion
and stand to attention
consulted ol' Doc for his viewpoint:
My snake is dead
no flesh; just head
lies comatose and useless
my garden hose
once warmed my toes
now wrinkled, dry and juiceless
The senile old doctor
by name Alfred Proctor
had most of his wit in absentia
his breath smelt cheesy
Ebenezer felt queasy
Doc clearly suffered from senile dementia
Doc's hand took a dip
to just 'neath his ribs
as Ebenezer voiced his concern
Doc smiled all the while
said: your hopes are futile
there's no cure for your vanishing organ
I lost my virility
before my senility
long mourned my lost pride-and-joy
put my plight to rest
on realizing I'm blessed
to have in hand my own built-in toy
**************************************
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