Hopefully this will be the nearest to controversial that I ever get in a poem. At least from a sexual point of view.
In the Shetland dialect, 'Penis' = 'Pillie'. And although that part of the male anatomy generally rules the normal brain cell, and my thoughts most of the time, this poem was actually written while thinking about a man who ran a bar in the south end of Shetland.
He had a habit of saying "Dat Pillie" when he heard of somebody who had acted on the impulse of 'da pillie' rather than the brain.
So this one is in memory of Peter. He served me many a good glass of beer.
I sit an winder lang sometimes why life can be sae trang,
why aches an pains an nyglie bits ir aetin at me krang.
I oosed ta be sae nimble an able i da bed,
bit noo I faa atil it buggered, dun, an dead.
Dir wis a time when I cud geeng fur nichts wi little sleep,
as lang as da mutton dagger got an antrin steep.
Bit noo a’m auld an grey even dat bits no sae vynded,
he’s lat me doon twice dis year, weel twice dat I hiv minded.
I winder if Viagra wid aese dis sorry plight,
an pit him back ta staandin 10 oors every nicht.
No dat a’m complainin, fir da boady needs a rest,
bit missin twice atil ee year is way below me best.
Bit feth, a’m meybe telling wrang, a’m just looked at da time,
da day’s no ower yet, just midnicht minus nine.
So twartree meenits left ta pit da world ta right,
a’m gaain ta steep me pillie, mair sharn anidder nicht.