Bathe me in ale, soak me in froth,
Give rivers of whiskey to swim in;
No time for women when rum is on tap,
And oceans of beer on the side.
Fill me with collops and gobbets of flesh,
Stay me with flagons of wine.
Give me to gnaw on glutinous gristle
And I’ll belch in thankful delight.
I’d piss in my boot nor I’d leave a feast,
And I’ll die with a chop in each hand.
Send baked ham, spring lamb,
Capons skewered and hot,
With mushrooms and onions and garlic
And drippings of urinous kidney between.
Give buckets and barrels of cockles and mussels,
High-smelling meat on a spit,
Brandy fountains, chocolate mountains,
Fat biscuits with cherries on top,
And best of all, an endless supply
Of bright-colored gumdrops to suck.
May you never be empty, my belly, my god,
And my lips never whisper “Enough.”
Think back, think back: can you recall when it
Was you first surmised, amazed, that you could
Place your hand upon a source of perfect
Joy, your very own, always smiling there;
That you could freely summon this brilliance
At will, and with—Oh my!—a most finely
Fitted palm or merely single finger?
Marvelous adolescent discovery,
When even extremities could be made
To sing and tingle, toes to thrill and
Sizzle from the rush of lovely dopamine.
(Yes, lucky youth may spend with feet as well.)
Better still, that priests and parents darkly
Disapproved with grimmest helplessness.