Come learn your fates at the village fêtes, hosted by kindly vicars; there’s lots to eat, don’t be discreet – but your attention flickers…
the boys want toys with lots of noise, the girls want glittery stickers, while a gypsy tent, being devil-sent, offers both lust and snickers.
The fêtes are fine for beer and wine, less so for fancy liquors; if you want to cruise for a bit of booze, they’re not for city slickers;
but the real thrust builds on the trust of godly, sinful vicars – it’s being caressed by a gypsy breast that puts a twist in their knickers.
The latest edition of Rat’s Ass Review (for Fall/Winter 2022) has just been published, and I’m delighted to have this irreverent (pun intended) piece included. (As the journal’s title suggests, the editor doesn’t care if you don’t agree with his selections and opinions.) Thanks, Rick Bates!
The fig leaf symbol’s one of History’s greats
As, inter alia,
It hides, discloses and exaggerates
The fruit itself suggests the female form —
Dripping with honey
The little hole breaks open, pink and warm . . .
The Bible’s funny.
First published in The Asses of Parnassus, this poem has just been republished in Better Than Starbucks, which earned a “Kudos on your brilliant ‘The Fig Tree'” from Melissa Balmain, editor of Light. That’s a trifecta of editorial acceptance – it makes me proud, and I have to erase my lingering suspicion that the poem would be thought too rude for publication. Now I rate the poem more highly, as being not just a personal favourite but also acceptable to a wider audience.
It sometimes feels that all I write is iambic pentameter. It is always reassuring when a poem presents itself with half the lines being something else, and the result is a lighter, less sonorous verse. The rhymes are good; the poem’s succinct and easy to memorise. I’m happy with it.