For the Man with the Erection Lasting More than Four Hours
by John Hodgen
He`s supposed to call his doctor, but for now he`s the May King with his own Maypole. He`s hallelujah . He`s glory hole. The world has more women than he can shake a stick at. The world is his brickbat, no conscience to prick at all, all of us Germans he can ich lieber dich at. He`s Dick and Jane. He`s Citizen Kane. He`s Bob Dole. He`s Peter the Great. He`s a czar. He`s a clown car with an extra car. Funiculi, Funicula. He`s an organ donor. He works pro boner. He`s folderol. He`s fiddlesticks. He`s the light left on at Motel 6. He`s free-for-alls. He`s Viagra Falls. He`s bangers and mash. He`s balderdash. He`s a wanker. He`s got his own anchor. He`s whack-a-doodle. King Canoodle. He`s a pirate, Long John Silver, walking his own plank. He has science to thank. He`s in like Flynn. He`s Gunga Din, holding his breath, cock of the walk through the valley of the shadow of death. He`s Icarus, hickory dickorous, the mouse run up the clock. He`s shock and awe. He`s Arkansas. He`s the package, the deal, the Good Housekeeping seal. He`s Johnson and Johnson. He`s a god now, the talk of the town. He`s got no place to go but down.
I love this poem because it`s imaginative, vibrant, linguistically clever and fun. It builds a man up into an indestructible, godlike sexual tyrannosaurus, a rampant cock servicing a mass of expectant, panting hens lining up for his attentions, only to tell him the bad news. He`s only a man after all, no staying power to pay his dues; a servant to the real master of the house. He`s a Cinderella returning to his natural form when the clock strikes enough! It`s an immortal, brilliantly rendered tale which tickles my fancy.