WOBBLIES FOREVER by Dennis Doph

because why? 46

Henry Willingham ran away from the State of Maine
in all kinds of filial-competitive pain
His big beefy brothers had absorbed all the cash
Left Henry and his bony Mick butt to crash
So Henry took the choo-choo out to Cathcart Wash
Where brother-in-law Ebenezer was raising squash
Milling shingles for the burghers of the City of Queens
Leaving Henry and the workers with rice and (maybe) beans

Henry retaliated with a little vengeance ploy
Married Ebenezer's niece Jane who thought like a boy
Janie was gravid as an up-country mink
Knocked out ten Mick babies before you could think
"When the hell is this flat-chested babe gonna stop?"
So Jane Willingham came up with a bumper crop

Finally totalling Sweet Fourteen of which
The first-born Natalie was the prize queen bitch
Had long curly gold-auburn Mary Pickford hair
And a way of putting her little foot right THERE
Which, beyond saying succinctly Natalie had class
She could also, equally succinctly, Kick ass.

Hank Willingham threw himself into all things To the Left
Causes which made Eb Swann quite bereft
Of any respect for his Mick nephew so dear
For Hank had begun to espouse entities kinda queer
International Workers of the World, with their heads
like Red-bobblies
...and they recruited unions and were called The Wobblies.

In April 1911 at the Port of Everett Washington
The Wobblies gathered for a bit of sport and fun
Mill owners on the bay had hired a bunch of scabs
To stop Wobblies from taking over in dribs and in drabs
Hank and Brother Gant in an excess of zeal
Committed Baby Natalie to their Commonweal

Jane tarted up Nat in a Mary Pickford kilt
With a cute poke bonnet Bustle at a little tilt
Cute baby red shoes like Engines of Fire
But one thing about Natalie they could all admire
Nat wasn't a bit threatened by the thought of jails
So they set her to carrying Molotov Cocktails
In her little Pickford basket with yellow daffodils
About to give mill owners some bodacious thrills

Dainty Nat trucked on down from Rucker to the Bay
Distributing daffodils along the way
Stopped to kiss a cop on the corner of Grand
Hank and Gant and Jane admired her sand
She tottered over to the scab-restraining fence
Then, abandoning any semblance of sense
Tossed her Molotov over the company wall
And the ensuing explosion deafened one and all

The following day Hank, nursing a fist-sprung jaw,
Told Nat she had killed her cousin dopy Coby Shaw
Baby Nat, in a precocious manner sweet to tell,
said: "Good! Hope the cocksucker went straight to hell."

Nat grew up wild in this Everett so bold
Seven more brothers -- spies come in from the cold
Bull dyke sister and then three brothers more
And dainty baby Marsha -- the last treat in store
This Willingham Machine rollied till the Paranoid Fifties
When HUAC caught most of 'em in their long johns or shifties
Lovely Natalie into my Kraut dad's bed had strayed
And the Murder of Coby Shaw was never to be paid

Except
Some evenings Nat's blue eyes would flash a murderous green
All the brothers would wince, "Here comes the Queen of Mean."
She paid off her appeasement to men of all stripes
Since her very gay son is now passing out handi-wipes
Wiping up tears from aficionadi of semen
Remembering his Mom could be such a fucking demon
Whenver his hijinks stick in some stud's craw
He simply flips 'em off with:
"Shit. Ya shoulda met my Ma."

WHAT THEY STOLE by Dennis Doph

because why? 46

They stole in like theives in the sultry night
To steal my beauty before it faded
Made what was profound merely stale and trite
And what was jealously guarded jaded;

They stole between we Guarded Two
And made Guarded One and One of us;
They took even the Taming out of my Shrew
Then made a genuine son-of-a-gun of us;

They scoffed at what we once thought was love
Gave us both black eyes -- each one a beaut
They took the Push out of Push Comes to Shove
And made an Ass out of what was most Astute

Made everything Light of the Light Fantastic
As if Fantastic was still a possibility
They turned what was Magic into Plastic
And stopped being civil about our incivility

They ran a relay between Here and There
And made Getting There more and more of a slog
They made our knees ache with every prayer
And split the Hair of the Hair of the Dog;

They gave my nose a helluva twist
Turned my lust to dust then resurrected it
They kissed me once where I needed to be kissed
Then fucked me hard when I least expected it;

They made me pray and they made me purr
They made what was left of my hair turn grey
And when they had made me worship what they were
They took even THAT and stole it away

They turned to pus what I thought was a prize
Turned my proud penis into an isthmus
They took the twinkle out of my cold blue eyes
And now, they make me say,
"Jesus Christ! Merry Christmas!"

YOU ARE NOT NEBRASKA by Dennis Doph

because why? 45

Ahhhhhhhh
Here in what the French call (warily) Les Etats-Unis
All of our Fifty Sovereign States try so very hard to please
While Bluff B. Obama sits like Tut upon his stool
Which of the fifty states would play the fearful tool
And tell the most amusing, fearful sort of stories?

For that matter, which of the five (unknown) territories
Would magisterially propose some paltry rule of thumb
Or, for that matter, would the District of Columbia succumb
To be something less than they already are?
(O no!)

But now we know, one state above all others is the star
Because of Ben Nelson's ability to wheedle and to barter
Gypsy Rose Lee would say: Nebraska
is the star and garter
.........................No! Lovely California, you are not Nebraska.

Even though you stretch for a thousand lonesome miles
From Oregon's frozen coast to Mexi-Baja's sunny smiles
Chilly San Francisco winter might invariably give piles
to your sun-kissed backsides,
Guys, you simply lack sides of good old, mottled,
stinking Nebraska beef
And the unending golden corn of which you are the chief

Smilin' Ben Nelson has become our Healthcare thief
Don't be polite! Just simply ask a
Pertinent question: the answer to which is
(though it really is the Bitches)
You are not Nebraska.

The payoff for providing this important Sixtieth Vote
Is this unmitigated rip-off which we all know now,
by rote:
The bounty which Nebraska (but no others) get to share
Is unlimited access to Universal Medicare.

Hey!
Though we all admit this has become a bit excrutional
Not to mention amazingly legally unconstitutional
Lady Harriet Reid Macbeth can wash her hairy hands
ablutional
Yes!
Even in Sarah Palin-land (Alaska) they are not Nebraska.

So no matter how we praise ourselves and make our mark
upon our quarters
We are forty-nine unclean states and rate nosepickings
just for starters
Sitting 'round the Mel Brooks campfire, scarfing beans
and letting farters
In America so Christian and so Holy we forty-nine
are so lowly.

Rhode Island is too teeny and Delaware too old
Both Carolinas reek from an advanced case of state-mold
Hiking the Old Appalachian Trail is self-defeating
(so we're told)
Colorado is too gold-minery, and lacks the finery

The finesse of Downtown Omaha with its hundreds of
strip malls
Thousands of slippery stairsteps down which every
drunkard falls
Ben Nelson may not have the looks, but, shit,
he sure does have the balls

So why take him to task? We are not Nebrask.

New York may have Times Square with its million
neon lights
In New Jersey they all sit around and watch grisly
Guinea fights
In all those other nameless states the just don't have
the rights

To be this unusual. So let the House of Reps go into
Refusual
When time comes for the Senate Bill to be pumped up
in the House
You know La Belle Dame Pelosi will not be quiet
as a mouse
She'll be shootin' from the hip. And shootin' plenny
of Nelson Benny.

Our progressive representatives have now found
a common voice
To kick ass of any creep who rejects a woman's right
of choice
So get down with Allan Grayson, and roll the House's
loaded dice
To get the Public Option, we are MEN, we are not mice

And those of us who are female are so divinely She-Male
Those below It and above It simply love It
And have the guts to tell Ben Nelson to SHOVE IT.

HAIRIER & HAIRIER : D.Doph

because why? 44

I'm obsessed Can go for days and days
Days and days and days without a flicker
of desire for the male form Then I see
A man somewhere somehow Thickness
of hair at his wrist

The space between his chest and his neck
Particularly the nape of the neck WOOF
My testosterone goes straight through the roof

Two days ago went to an Osh's with my partner
There to buy fairylights for the spruce tree out back
Handsome short Italian man buying fairylights
Six year old girl in tow She was selecting the lights
she chose pink

Guy had a shortsleeved shirt in the dead of winter
Muscular arms covered with thick black hair
Up beyond where I could see the biceps
Back of his neck shaved But Could see
thick black hair

Starting just below the collar My cock almost
leaped out of my pants Stood next to the fairy
lights staring at the man's arms the back of his neck
Little girl selected her pink fairylights They paid
and left

Left me standing with an enormous boner

Two days later found the unwitting focus for my
Unrelentant fur fetishism Waiting for a trolleybus
Stearnswharf Santa Barbara Ordinary looking man
His ordinary looking wife Their three ordinary looking
sons

All waiting for the trolleybus Would have passed them up
But saw the guy had a shadow of back hair showing
Just below the collar of his sweater. Was on him
Like a monkey salivating for a banana. Stood nearby
the little family

Waited for the trolleybus to board All five of 'em
got on the bus, sat on the left, all in a row Eight year old
not so cute boy, Dad, twelve year old very cute boy,
Mom, six year old ugly boy Just like Mom
I sat

At the end of the bus grooving on what I could see of Dad
Thick dark blond hair protruding out from the cuffs
Of his sweater, which produced an elongation of my cock
I tried to conceal Thicker dark brown hair sticking out
of the front collar

Of his sweater producing a liquefying effect on that cock
Which was already hard And, on the back: Bliss.
Salt-n-pepper shortcut hair scizzored short straight
Across the back, four or five inches salt-n-pepper stubble
Down below

The back collar of his sweater. Every time he turned
To address his little family each turn of his body
Revealed more thick, luscious, dark brown fur
Shoulder-to-shoulder all across his back. My cock
had risen

By this time to halfway up my chest His eight-year-old
Son sitting next to me knew I was ogling Dad At no time
Did Dad acknowledge there was a sixtysomething fag
Grooving on his fur We had no eye contact Dad started
to wriggle against

The seat behind him The eight-year-old said:
Dad, want me to scratch your back?

Sure, Craig.

Craig scratched his back. With each scratch more and more
Luscious darkbrown backfur revealed

Totally erect almost all the way up to my nips,
Decided to get off the bus, four stops before my usual.
As I rose Dad looked me in the face The one and only
Time Looking down at him I saw at least six inches
chesthair

Four or five more Thick backhair Came in my pants
Got off the bus, FAST. Such is the life of a fur fetishist.