He likes the flowers and the bells
but buys what JC Penney’s sells.
He’s out on his own balcony
and thinks the neighbours cannot see.
But from the corner of the street
is one who’s dying just to meet
the desert poet JC Carter
who maybe just that fraction smarter
then other poets in the region,
though poets there are hardly legion.
She watches him perform the crunch
and gets a new poetic hunch.
She sees him cracking now his neck
and tells herself, oh what the heck,
with speed and Arizona grace
she drops her body now to face
the morning sun with one great curl
when JC spots the active girl.
He drops his torso on his knees
does semi-pushups, what a tease,
she watches and is soon impressed
he keeps it going without rest!
One thousand one he counts aloud
below has gathered a big crowd,
behind him opens the screen door
he’s waiting for the words ‘do more’.
But now it is the spouse, all dressed
she takes it in, is not impressed.
Because the girl, in her bikini
has freed herself just like Houdini.
And in the heat of her endeavour
(perhaps she was extremely clever)
the ties had loosened in the heat
the sight, it’s true, was hard to beat.
Now Carter had been in flagranti
he left the balcony, avanti
and did agree, without a fight
that he would take, each Thursday night
the trash out back right to the street
and pile it up so it looked neat.
She also gave him other chores
in an attempt to fix his mores.
I’m sorry if this story got
onto this site, and it is not
that I’m a blabbermouth, no way.
I just tell stories if I may.