THE WHO WHO DILLY
This is one of the things I wanted to write about:
back in March 1975 when I was randy and 22
I had to go into hospital to be circumcised because
my foreskin bled when my penis grew and blew.
As to the operation I can’t remember anything.
When I blearily came too I looked at my bird,
my disco stick, my ding-a-ling, my joystick,
my middle-leg, my rod, my willie, my wood.
It was bandaged like a courset and looked like a dolly,
with two fabric ears and a cute little face someone
had drawn for fun. It didn’t look like a one-eyed
monster or Russell the love muscle or steamin’ semen.
It looked like something the cat had been playing with
as the head was raw and the binding coated with blood
and other crud. I got an erection 40 or more times a day
and each time felt like I’d been shot and taken a bullet.
Each time it happened I swore, bent double with pain
clutching my pole, my John Thomas, my trouser snake.
Everyone thought it funny. The nurses and cleaners flirted
and the filthy old men kept telling me filthy old jokes.
It wasn’t funny. It was torture especially when mother
came round at visiting time and I had to keep a straight face.
It didn’t help when the Senior nurse used to say just relax
when it felt as though I’d been I felt like I’d been embraced
by an iron maiden, was an ex-member of the human race,
because it felt I’d been cubbed in the groin with a mace.