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It occupies a space and is attached
to man's presumptious body by a flap.
Its true importance though is rarely ever matched,
come night it sometimes gains a feather in its cap.
The simple sight of woman's breasts or lovely legs
is oft sufficient to bestow a tiny ripple
into the shaft itself, within which something begs
for much more blood, so it can swell, its name is Schnippel.
That is the name they use throughout the fatherland,
a mother tells the boy to take his little Schnippel
behind a juniper, the boy will understand.
And then he wonders why that thing looks like a cripple,
when it is sleeping in his pants between those pillows,
and sleep it does except for tiny, scary seconds.
He's heard from older boys that they think theirs are willows
but does not follow all this logic, so he reckons
that soon enough things will all fall into place,
and that the mystery about that hanging Schlong
will be revealed and if there is a truth to face
it may explain why it has hair like ape King Kong.
So, now you know the story of a tag
that is considered a true jewel of all boys.
And similarity exists to turbo lag,
I do not think it can be found among the toys.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: sometimes, woman, truth, hair, mother, sleep, women
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