Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The Boys

The photographer hates it when his subjects pointedly ignore him.
Slept in today since I am covering the night shift and realized way too much time has passed since I put up a picture of the boys. The latest report from home had them eating some flowers that had bloomed outside but needed to be brought inside to save them from the cold. Such good boys they are. A poem for them:

The boys i mean are not refined
They go with girls who buck and bite
They do not give a fuck for luck
They hump them thirteen times a night
One hangs a hat upon her tit
One carves a cross on her behind
They do not give a shit for wit
The boys i mean are not refined

They come with girls who bite and buck
Who cannot read and cannot write
Who laugh like they would fall apart
And masturbate with dynamite

The boys i mean are not refined
They cannot chat of that and this
They do not give a fart for art
They kill like you would take a piss

They speak whatever's on their mind
They do whatever's in their pants
The boys i mean are not refined
They shake the mountains when they dance

E.E. Cummings


Churlita said...

Wow. That poem is perfect for tom cats.

Dexter said...

Our boys dont get to go outside....Although one of them really, really, really, wants too escape. In this case the window was cracked open and they love that.