THE FISH IS IN THE WATER by Dennis Doph

because why? 28

When lanky Isidore Miller from the shtetls of Poland came
To beget and beguile on Manhattan Isle and maximize his name
Before this shtet had begun to beget he put forward this winsome wish
the fish is in the water
the water is in the fish

When I achieved my young maleness at the fulsome young age of four
I whipped out my beaut in the toilet-de-chute and slipped on the bathroom floor
When Mom came in to see what was the spin
and ask what the fuck had transpired
Said my baby fingers had slipped in the fucking zip
and I was fucking tired
Then she saw the slipstream of poop on the floor
and called me some kind of a stupe
For the poop should be in the poopster
and the floor's not the place for poop

A few years later when I was snooping at the back
of Mom's bureau drawer
Spied a glittering piece of bling wondering
what the fuck was it for
When I cornered my Mom with this blingy Thing
to her embarrassment and chagrin
She told me the Thing was for sucking out
what Daddy had tried to put in
Then after she tried to evade me Slicing off
a nice slice of Spam
She called a spade a spade 'bout how babies are made
from their Daddies' babyjam
And the babyjam doesn't matter a damn
if it gets sucked out by a diaphragm
So I learned a bit more about what I am
and that babyjam belonged in the diaphragm

Not too much later at the age of twelve
Becky Turner chased me under the house
Picking at something sticky up under her shorts
calling me some kind of fucking louse
If I didn't assist in her predicament by fingering
her little muff
I was horrified by the vaginal explosion
when I got vindictive and ruff
So what I had to please stayed in my BVDs
when Beck tried to get it inside
But I Japped her out with a twist and a shout
because I had too damn much pride
To get a little disease from this piece of cheese
and enough is really enough
So my blunderbuss never got to her Puss
and Her Puss never got my stuff!

So down through the endless ages we're resigned
to this rodomontade
Prone to get pea green when we make the Scene
becoming a wee bit odd
Now the frost is on the pumpkin There's no point
feeling lean or lost
For the Pumpkin, my friend, is a means to an end
when the pumpkin is on the frost

So rooty-toot-toot for this last ride on the chute
not feeling either feral or fair
Wondering which little pop will be my last stop
when this thumping is pumping air
So I pull the covers up over my face
daring you all to excite me
And with one last exhausting exhibition
I'm asking you all to BITE ME
And as you sink your scintillating teeth
in my fat little Kraut of a knish
notice
the fish is in the water
and the water is in the fish