Well, ahem, don’t disturb
I am writing my first poem
let me concentrate on an ice-cream cone
licking a voluptuous girl’s lips.
(is there a typo, did I mean hips?)

Now to take care of the poetic elements
I will have to dip my poem
in chocolate, vanilla, strawberry
and get it butter scotched.
Before it becomes diabetic
I will have to push insulin,
or those genetically engineered injections.

Well, let me write my first poem
I should try a new rhyme scheme
where art and fart make resonance,
where poets rule over critics,
and minds are free
to think about vanilla skies,
chocolate sea and orange eyes.

Let me write my first poem
that explodes in images
and smells of patchouli
and tastes like old wine.