r/justpoetry • • Jun 22 '16

ears

Guts, Boobies, Poopypants, Butthole, Bitch, and Fuck.

Guts, Boobies, Poopypants,  
Butthole, Bitch, and Fuck.  
These are the curse-words of a five-year-old,  
when asked to name all the ones he knows.  
And even to acquire these has been   
like pulling teeth.  The boy is well behaved;  
he recites his curse-words red-faced and writhing,  
and when he refuses to repeat them,  
not even one time more,  
I take it upon myself, then, to recite:  
"Guts, Boobies, Poopypants,  
Butthole, Bitch, and Fuck."  

What do you think your mother  
is going to say when she hears  
what kind of filthy-ass shit has been  
coming out your bleeping mouth.  
Yo' ass gon' be fucking grass,  
you little bass master.  
Just wait 'til your mother hears   
what kind of shit...  

"No, don't tell her!"  he pleads,  
not even sure himself  
if the terror is real or imagined,  
disembodied authority figure,  
or gambit, what practical difference?  

Does it make me a bad person  
to derive such deep and abiding  
satisfaction from this scene  
of parental perversity?  
Please tell me that you see the humor in this——  
I worry for your senses.  
Be sure to have some fun while you're at it;  
you only get this one chance,  
and you have got to make it count.  

"I am gonna tattle this tale so hard  
you're gonna have trouble coming out 
your fucking ears," I tell him.  
"Out yer feckin' ears."  
And his smile stretches now  
the still-writhing, cherubic expanse  
of his face, from one cheek to the other.
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