IN THE NAME OF HELEN KELLER

Don't put that thug in your vagina,
Put Ed Koch in your crotch,
Put Marion Berry in your hairy cherry,
Or plug it up, butterscotch.

An itch in your esophagus, 
Can roam across the spectrum,
Flagellate officiously,
And wag your middle finger
At the way you used to care about the tacit insurrection,
The never ending persecution is all tied to your rectum.

Cancel out the integers of hairy peach fuzz,
Why don't you deliberate what is and not what was.
But in the good old days it was all crystal clear,
And now a zit makes you run and get a papsmear.

Little old lady reminiscing 'bout the days,
When she swung her hips with the latest dance craze.
Now up in the attic is her IUD,
Like a rank rusty remnant of an aging woowee.

Down at the nude beach the ripples of waves 
Echo on the stomachs of Middle America,
Like raw fatty midwestern beef.
I apologize for tarnishing the virginity of your ears,
In the name of Hellen Keller, 
You smell like Old Yeller.

{POETRY}