Classic Poem

Ah, toucan, we meet again!
exactly as he looked ten years ago,
tall and slim as an Italian count,
the nose like that Bolivian bird.
Light and bouncy
on his way to the same caper.

O for a quixotic tongue
to sparkle
like this air!

If I were not related to the right people
he wouldn't give me the time of day,
yet greets me extravagantly.
Embarrassed perhaps by the paper bag
he's carrying.

Business failure
A chaser
(so they say).
Strange tastes.
They must find him amorous:
those ardent eyes
never leave theirs
till they yield
Long and lovingly,
that's the ticket.

Just curious at first:
what's it like,
those dark eyes
always urging,
imploring,
" to bed! "
until too late
to turn back.
Must be damned flattering.

Too much for them
Out of reasons
Tell themselves
they deserve
a change of luck

Every inch the count,
though afterwards
they like to tease,
" What happened to you,
my little count? "

And so he goes
under those lacy frills
down down to woman,
held by that musk,
crying, " Open!

while the wife
beds down
with his ectoplasm.

Hasta la vista,
toucan
See you on the next round

I'll be older.