• a donut •

• a donut •
This Spring fever’s got me.
I think I caught myself,
Eyeing a donut,
With a perverse proclivity.
“A donut, a donut,
My kingdom for a donut!”
Raged the little Richard (the third)
Limping about, in my head, ambitiously, proclaiming
in a fervid rant,
His desperate desire of
a rolling donut
At which to take a flying leap.

(Defying anyone, upon pain of death
To snigger, or dare to stare,
or even to look askance
At the swelling protrusion,
In his lumpen trouser leg.)

So, after that, I became obsessed,
With warm donuts, or rather,
Donut holes, generally,
Sweetly, unnaturally.
To have a box of donuts
In the natural
Became, for me,
The very thing.
So, I popped over to Duncan Donuts
For a baker’s dozen
Of warm, receptive, delectable
Nippy sweeties,
“Plain, piping hot,
just out of the vat.
No icing, if you please.”
When he handed them over,
The cardboard box was warm,
And the smell filled my senses
And I quivered a bit
At the knees.
So I opened the box
Just a bit, just to sniff deeply
And to look them over,
Sort of a precursor to foreplay.
And, what do I find,
But a box of puffy dots
In two short greasy rows!
I held one up, for the clerk to see,
Saying, “What the fuck is THIS?!!”
“Donut holes,” he replied.
“It’s what you ordered.”
“I don’t THINK SO!” I shouted.
“I’m quite sure.”
“You don’t GET IT, DO YOU!!”
I bellowed, hugely, magisterially,
insanely, and finally,
losing control completely,
Throwing them in his face,
“I’M A HORNY, HORNY MAN, MAN…!!” I cried,
~ Tim Burchfield



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