The ’Eart of Practising Safe Talks

 

 

God, people want to have talks with me—on line!

(Per verse as it is), it happens—all the time!

But (Lord, thou know’st) I’m purely heterotalksial:

I’m attracted to the opposite talks, so noctial,

And too each day—I keep my talker zipped,

Thus practising safe talks (Thou know’st: tight-lipped);

It’s the safest way to avoid dread TTDs,

Each talksially-transmitted (Ai!) disease,

Keeping my (small?) talk squarely in my genes,

Thus avoiding all those seamy threaded scenes

As are like to cause unwanted pregnancy

Of chatter that is borne of pure ennui

And (Thou knowest this is most to be reviled)

Go on… and on… supporting this bastard child. 

 

Lord, the lot of them are such talks maniacs,

(“Our talk’s the tops of aphrodisiacs!”)

Yet I might be lured by their talksy dialection

Were there some way of knowing if they’ve used protection.

I don’t know who each had talks with last night

Lest I ogle each thread’s every talksy byte

—And being so exposed to all their talks—Ick!

I’d, too, like them, become so very talk-sick!

Too, their pseudonyms are so-o coyly androgynous

I’m afraid to let myself get talks erogenous

Since I don’t know when some talksy thing fawns mawksial

If they’re homo-, Lord—or more perverse—bi-talksial!

Worse, some of them are so God-damned promiscuous,

Having talks with them I’d be, at least, at-riskuous

Of catching what they have (O Lord, what dreads!)

Like them I’d soon be peeling off the threads

—And having unprotected talks with those

Who, by all appearances, Lord—aren’t wearing close!

 

Lord, I pledge to take this vow of threaded muteness

(Pray help me not succumb to threaded cuteness

That I, for all my talks austerity,

May practise safe talks—with posterity!)

My every seed I’ll cede unto my verse,

My every talksy attribute immerse,

While rages all around the “Thread me!” chatter

All the “Let’s have unprotected talks—no matter

If we don’t write one poetry above it;

We’ll get our talks off—oh oh OH-H-H—we LOVE it

So! we can’t help waxing talksy, Chatty Cathys

(Save when, of course, we’re waxing Catty Chathys).”

Lord, let me swear again my pledge profound
(In case thou missed my oath first time around):

My course of late I’ll steadfastly pursue:

To put a verse or two each week on view

By occupation—Poet of Sundry Rants

Who keeps his (small?) talk in his occu-pants.

O Lord, for all my abstinent restraint

I merely ask: promote me Poet-Saint.