He’s a good friend to me, he is.
Wherever I go he goes before me.
In a public urinal when I go to piss
He alerts me to dally not, but pee
quickly and get the hell out.
He has not gracefully aged
Grown a forest, wooded and mossy.
Discharged fluids so far caged,
when laced with dust and cats a-posse,
He is sore and likely to pout.
He’s been through a lot, he has
The poor thing, has suffered much
Been poked, peered at, given gas
Twice been scraped, and as such
forced to let his gunk out.
You may wonder why I keep it
knowing he is defective and weepy
and likely to flood when I’m lit.
it helps me when I’m sleepy
this thing I call my snout.