Talking to you is like being
 trapped

In Vero Beach, the old gigolos wear plaid and khakis,
they drive SUVS, they recycle,
they say thank you and please,
really they are such nice guys
until the scam’s done.

I let my midnight dreams explore
what I had never dared before–

some fowl what I did see before
reclining quaint as once of yore.

This is a poem about my nipples.
I call it “Titillation” because that’s a pun
and people pretending to be poets
use puns as the illiterati use memes:
to prove how clever we are.
So prepare to be impressed.

Darth Vader sports ye olde chainmail and has a turkey leg
in his left hand and a program in his right.
He is muddy AND dusty, smelling of grease and that crocodile stand.
He has never been happier, never more carefree.