Wordsworth Is Too Much with Us

For my British-literature students, currently reading the Romantics

 

Wordsworth is too much with us late and soon;

reading and reading, we waste our hours,

missing out on nature with its flowers.

To his odes, we’ve sacrificed our youth.

All these words that, stacked, would reach the moon,

the pages we’ll be turning at all hours;

assaulting us with iambs while we cower,

into bed he makes us want to swoon.

He excites us–not! I’d rather, dude,

be one of those Philistines that I dis,

so might I quit reading his endless Prelude

and sink into my comfy bed so soothing,

or drink some beers while I watch Netflix.

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

 

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Mister Right Now

After Shakespeare and Mullen

 

My Grindr hookup’s eyes are kind of dark,

but mostly red from smoking too much weed.

If manscaped chests are smooth, he’s a grassy park;

if appearance reveals class, then he is seedy.

 

I’ve seen a whole shitload of rainbow merch,

but he’s all in black, a too-old goth.

I know that he would leave me in the lurch

if he got a text from someone hotter.

 

If colognes were oceans, I could swim in his;

he could’ve skipped the spritz and taken a shower.

But he’s here and his dick is pretty big,

so, what the hell; we’ll be done in half an hour.

 

He’s about as godlike as a spade,

but I’m fucking desperate to get laid.

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

Scenes from the Thirteenth Night


Scenes from the Thirteenth Night

1.

“Oh, Seb, I thought we’d never be together,”

Antonio whines as they lie in bed entwined,

his dark curls resting on Sebastian’s chest.

And Sebastian strokes that hair and responds,

“I told you, Tony, ‘Livia was just a practical move;

it’s you I’ve always loved, from that first time at sea.”

2.

“’Cesario,’ Olivia says to Viola,” that’s what

I’ll always call you, Love, ‘cause even though

your secret maidenhead’s what I wanted to claim,

I still like you looking all butched up in your boots.

“Call me what you like,” Vi replies, “as long

as I can get you out of that silk gown

and fifty layers of undergarments.”

3.

“Feste, sweet Feste, I’m such a fool for you,”

Orsino admits, “and I love it when you come

round here to fool around with me.”

“But, Orsie, there’s no greater foolishness

than fooling with a fool,” jokes Feste,

“though I concede I want to take advantage

of your folly—and take your ducal scepter.”

4.

“Malvolio, you’re so uptight,” Andrew says;

“what you need’s to relax and have a little fun.”

“But Andy, how’m I supposed to loosen up

when I’ve just been bashed by obnoxious

Toby and that wicked wench Maria?

What I need’s to get my revenge on those assholes!”

“The past is past, Mal, just let them go

and pound my eager ass instead.”

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper