Roman Poem

Rubbing his turbulent Schroeder

Some Roman dude

Shimmies up the drainpipe

of the Baths of Caracalla

Whispering his knockwurst

To the Emperor’s ebullient porthole

He spies a gigantic scrotum

The Senator used as a tarp

To cover up his fun buggy

In the carport of his villa

Known to the locals as Boner Town

And valued for its buttocks

This Roman dude

Climbed down from the moist and lubricated lintel

Minus one spanking

And ran into the rumpus room

Where the goat cheese rafters

Echoed the screeching

Of 100 soaking-wet ferrets

Producing stew

The stench of antique meats

Drove preceptor and praetor together

Into an Italic broom closet

Where freedmen shot their yogurts

Into citizens’ togas

And matrons cradled loafers

Dreaming of speaking to radishes

About the soil in their stolas.

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