ymaginacioun

i like to dunk my head
beneath the water
see ‘tween her thighs
and blow bubbles

i like to come up for air
my lips to her knees
like hungry starfish
tasting high land

i like to smell the foam
slipping down her face
it gives me an excuse
to steal one more kiss

i like to feel her belly laugh
causing a tiny storm
as our old, creaky bath
overflows its banks

i like to take full advantage
of four of my five senses
tho’, alas, i can’t use my hearing aid
during naughty rub-a-dubs in a tub

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

GUEST POST // The cat who loved ABBA by Graeme Sandford

ABBA, the cat, who loved,
never knew about punctuation,
or the proper use of colons and commas;
but, she didn’t have to,
it wasn’t important in the scheme of things –
unlike tummy rubs
and wriggling strings.

by GRAEME SANDFORD
© All rights reserved 2021

the fitzroy killer

what kind of turtle breathes through its arse?
a brave one, that’s what, that moves real fast!
it doesn’t give a shit what you find reasonable
it’ll squeeze with its cheeks anything seasonable
be it bananas or tim tams or mini fridges
it’s all moshing green hair and bristling ridges
don’t stand in its path or it’ll gnaw your shoes
then down to the bone ’til you’re yesterday’s news!
what’s more, it doesn’t need any goddam excuses
it’ll blend then swill you like some vegan juices
so, you’d better not be messing with the bum breathing turtles
if you don’t want to rest in pieces between the scrubs of myrtles

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

what would freud say?

i woke up with the thought
that the letter ‘o’
is a death mask
and that the pathless one
cannot claim me
without it

so, i lay there and looked
at a spot of light
on the ceiling
then did i turn my head
to the window’s
vacant yawn

gazed i through that dark glass
all silent and grim
lo, i shivered
awaiting a fresh hell
from the pit ‘neath
that dank earth

an answer came to me…
if the pit is ‘o’
gaping for me
and the death mask is ‘o’
then needs must they
add to two

i melded the two ‘o’s
infinity ‘fuck’
i girded it
thrust in the pathless face
my loins to mouth
and its shame

then did i fall asleep
like a baby does
with the feeling
of sweet satisfaction
a slaked ‘amen’
so saintly

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Some Little Bug by John Leroy Atwell aka Roy Atwell

In these days of indigestion
It is oftentimes a question
As to what to eat and what to leave alone;
For each microbe and bacillus
Has a different way to kill us,
And in time they always claim us for their own.
There are germs of every kind
In any food that you can find
In the market or upon the bill of fare.
Drinking water’s just as risky
As the so-called deadly whiskey,
And it’s often a mistake to breathe the air.

Some little bug is going to find you some day,
Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
Then he’ll send for his bug friends
And all your earthly trouble ends;
Some little bug is going to find you some day.

The inviting green cucumber
Gets most everybody’s number,
While the green corn has a system of its own;
Though a radish seems nutritious
Its behaviour is quite vicious,
And a doctor will be coming to your home.
Eating lobster cooked or plain
Is only flirting with ptomaine,
While an oyster sometimes has a lot to say,
But the clams we cat in chowder
Make the angels chant the louder,
For they know that we’ll be with them right away.

Take a slice of nice fried onion
And you’re fit for Dr. Munyon,
Apple dumplings kill you quicker than a train.
Chew a cheesy midnight “rabbit”
And a grave you’ll soon inhabit
Ah, to eat at all is such a foolish game.
Eating huckleberry pie
Is a pleasing way to die,
While sauerkraut brings on softening of the brain.
When you eat banana fritters
Every undertaker titters,
And the casket makers nearly go insane.

Some little bug is going to find you some day,
Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
With a nervous little quiver
He’ll give cirrhosis of the liver;
Some little bug is going to find you some day.

When cold storage vaults I visit
I can only say what is it
Makes poor mortals fill their systems with such stuff?
Now, for breakfast, prunes are dandy
If a stomach pump is handy
And your doctor can be found quite soon enough.
Eat a plate of fine pigs’ knuckles
And the headstone cutter chuckles,
While the grave digger makes a note upon his cuff.
Eat that lovely red bologna
And you’ll wear a wooden kimona,
As your relatives start scrappin ’bout your stuff.

Some little bug is going to find you some day,
Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
Eating juicy sliced pineapple
Makes the sexton dust the chapel;
Some little bug is going to find you some day.

All those crazy foods they mix
Will float us ‘cross the River Styx,
Or they’ll start us climbing up the milky way.
And the meals we eat in courses
Mean a hearse and two black horses
So before a meal some people always pray.
Luscious grapes breed ‘pendicitis,
And the juice leads to gastritis,
So there’s only death to greet us either way;
And fried liver’s nice, but, mind you,
Friends will soon ride slow behind you
And the papers then will have nice things to say.

Some little bug is going to find you some day,
Some little bug will creep behind you some day
Eat some sauce, they call it chili,
On your breast they’ll place a lily;
Some little bug is going to find you some day.

by JOHN LEROY ATWELL (1878-1962)
Public Domain Poetry