True, I have to breed them
For I crave to watch their babies
Swarm all over my room
Under my mattresses
In my bag
Between pages of the unread books
Behind the murky rocks of my mind
Naturally, I have to find out
Who does what to who and how
Who does what to who and why
Who does what to who and where
Who does what to who and when
And the knowledge of my own species
Doesn’t help
The male has an organ or a penis, or phallus
Depending on what biologist you read
The organ might be dark-grey
Purple or blackish
With an expanded head
And a sharp spine at its tip
And it is large when compared
With the turtle's size.
It might be seen on occasion
When sunbathing or drinking
When the front half
Of the turtle is submerged.
You will spy it if you are lucky
If you are not
Then you will have to try out
A combination of steps
To arrive at some conclusion.
I am not so lucky.
I put several of them together
Watch them crawl over one another
In slow and unsteady motions
I am curious about the secrets
Of their desire their chemistry
Their patience
Their primitive lust.
I see them disappear
Unhurriedly
Behind the prehistoric rocks on my mind
I draw out my pen
(Or organ or penis or phallus
Depending on which critic
You prefer)
And sit sunbathing
On an abandoned sheet of paper
My front half submerged
In strange reptile waters
And before I understand a thing
Unknown salmonella infects me
Laying me low with poetry
Jan 29 2013
9:59 pm
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