Nothing For The Man Is Sacred Poem by gershon hepner

NOTHING FOR THE MAN IS SACRED

Nothing for the man is sacred
because he's secular.
Naturally he likes what’s naked,
and needs no specula
like gynecologists insert
in parts that are pudendal.
The flesh that keeps his mind alert
does not need instrumental
equipment for his eye to see,
with mind that venerates
all joys from the forbidden tree
their image generates,
and uses fingers to explore
the surface, till he uses
more specialized equipment for
the deep flesh and its juices.

For him, since everything's unholy,
there's nothing that's as sweet as
the flesh that hides, though guacamole
that’s served with margaritas
comes second best when days are long
and drinks are strong and salty.
Please tell me, if you think he's wrong,
how is his logic's faulty?
“hould for his priorities
explore more sacred sites than those
in orchards and sororities? ”
I ask, but don’t propose
an answer. Chaqu’un à son gout,
as people say in French;
guacamole’s good for you,
and more so, a bad wench.

A revision of a Vorlage written on 9/19/99, entitled “Guacamole”:


1/23/10