Wee Problem

by

Hay Machine

In men about the age of fifty the prostate starts to grow
they tend to know not much about it
(when again it might be said)
there's not an awful lot to know
the almond with its own agenda sprouts and starts to show
how the greatest of them all have fallen prey
to the biggest (little) silent almond-shaped unseen troublemaker of our day

It's function is to make the juice that carries semen off
and after adolescent's surge it settles down to just that job
be praised the internet its diagrams fAQ's and theme'd home pages
the little bastard kills more men than all the world war rages

It lies concealed in mid-crotch hiding in the centre of the gusset
when in aging men the almond starts to grow we don't discuss it
it crimps the urinary tubing and torments the bladder so
doing this and two things further all at once you ought to know
creating bursting pre-dawn urge and unfulfilling urine flow
and after bleary stagger to the bathroom pray believe it
the hose now dented forms a blockage all your grunting won't relieve it

The second thing its reputation suffers from
if cancer strikes its too late to remove it
notwithstanding that investigations must be undertaken
to diagnose or otherwise disprove it
with rubber glove and grim sinuey neck
your doctor has to visit it via the rectum
his index finger probing like a diesel-powered caterpillar
the fact alone the prostate in this manner grows
is probably the single reason that
you've never seen your family doctor
suck his thumb or ever stick his finger up or next or near his nose

Your bladder plays a neat and timely role
responding to benign this mid-life growing toll
it gathers up some extra squeeze and traps it in behind the pelvic door
(energy from all the grunt and grimace I suppose that you expend on bathroom floor)
all of this a timeworn tapestry of self deception and depreciation
distracting you until the fateful day they pull your little almond friend
a most undignified and painful tragic end
under general anesthetic out through the smallest penis hole
nature's perfect balance lays the price of all life's pleasure on your wrinkled scrotum pole

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Nothing Left For Me
by: Robert Cameron Hazelton
from: Amsterdam, NY, US

To visit all of Hay Machine's poems, click HERE

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