Opposites Attracted (Past)

Above to Below, AD to BC...

and And to But.
Barrel to Crate, Brando to Cox...

and Boost to Cut.

Cats to Dogs, Clean to Dirt...

and Credits to Debits.
Dummy to Einstein, Dull to Edgy...

and Dolan to Ebetts.

Empty to Full, England to France...

and Expensive to Free.
Fox to Geese, Feds to Gangsters...

and "F**k!" to "Gee!"

Gone to Here, Gay to Het’ro...

and Give to Heist.
Healthy to Ill, Heav'n to Inferno...

and Hot to Iced.

Iscariot to Jesus, Israel to Judah...

and Islamist to Jew.
Joker to King, Judo to Karate...

and Jubilee to Kew.

Knotted to Loosed, Kingfish to Lightnin'...

and Kent to Lane.
Lewis to Martin, Larry to Moe...

and Louisiana to Maine.

May to November, Moi to Nous...

and Many to None.
Non to Oui, Noory to Oprah...

and None to One.

Orange to Purple, Opera to Plainsong...

and Oceans to Ports.
Poncas to Quakers, Panza to Quixote...

and Pints to Quarts.

Quarry to Raider, Quiet to Raging...

and Quiz to Response.
Roosevelt to Stalin, Running to Still...

and Rabbit to Sconse.

Short to Tall, Silver to Trigger...

and Sweet to Tart.
Tasty to Unsavory, Topdog to Underdog...

and Thatcher to Urquhart.

Unspoken to Voiced, UHF to VHF...

and Usquebaugh to Vin.
Volts to Watts, Virgin to Wanton...

and Vivid to Wan.

Wet to Xerotic, Wilmette to Xanadu...

and WBJEE to XAT.
Xanthinless to Yellow, Xylophone to Yedaki...

and Xebec to Yacht.

Yolk to Zygote, Yukon to Zambezi...

and Yarmulke to Zori.

Zero to All, Zuni to Apache...

and Zucchinis to Acori.

My Body Abominable: an ABC (Past)

A's for my acne. 

Zits cover my face.
Zits cover my ass as well. 

(Such a disgrace!)

 
B's for my bunions. 

One grim case in point
is my huge 

metatarsophalangeal joint.
 
C’s for the ganglion cysts 

on my wrists.
That I have ‘em remov’d 

my kid-sister insists.
 
D's for my dandruff. 

It pours from each pore.
My friends call me “Blizzard-head.” 

(What are friends for…?)
 
E's for my earwax. 

My hearing’s so hard
I play ear trumpet – third – 

in our National Guard.
 
F’s for my foreskin.
It itches like hell!
At Xmas, my stocking
gets silica gel.
 
G's for my gonads.
Pruritus there, too.
If relief doesn’t come,
I don’t know what I’ll do.
 
H…? For the hammertoe

Dad had as well.

I can deal with the pain

but I can't with the smell.
 
I’s for my instep.

My arches have fallen.

At least they're

my milit'ry service forestallin.'
 
J’s for my jugular,

gone for by thugs.

(When that fail'd, they into me 

pump'd sev'ral slugs.)

 
K’s for my kneecaps.

The same gang of goons

went and broke 'em.

They've swollen like weather balloons.
 
L’s for my larynx:

its scarring's severe,

thereby pulling the plug

on my op'ra career.
 
M’s for my mullet.

It's modell'd on Don's.

My mom thinks it's more like 

a trumpeter swan's..

 
N’s for my nosehair.

It limits the air

getting into to my lungs...

but that's not your affair.
 
O’s for the organ...
(I can't now recall

what it actually does;

it's defective is all.)

P’s for my palm.

Palms are parts of my hands
(And, addition’lly, trees
grown in cyclone-prone lands.)
 
Q’s for my quadraceps --
parts of the thighs
which get hyper-develop’d
in muscle-bound guys.
 
R’s for my rib.
From one, God fashion’d Eve.
(Eve from my rib, of course,
would be hard to believe.)
 
S…? For my shin.
It’s that part which I bark
when yours briefly encounters
my own in the dark.
 
T’s for my tongue.
(White ones, shaped like a fork,
scraped up twenty-four dollars
to purchase New York.)
 
U: my umbilical cord…?
Nope! The uterus.
(Neither's sufficiently suited
to tutor us.)
 
V is my veins.

They're not varicose...but

they're 

which means they're, essentially, shut.
 
W…? Wisdom teeth – all of mine out:
They’re a bane: too much pain
to remain in my mout.’
 
X…? Xiphisternum.
 
Y’s for the yolk sac…
 
Z

 

An Eclipse of Moths (Past)

Free and fair elections...? 

They be mother’s milk to me.
(Drumpf be a behemoth: 

Drumpf would strangle ‘em, would he.)

What’s needed’s a bon mot hautain 

to brand the situation.
I fear “the mo’ the merrier” 

won't suit our conversation.

Pinpoint more...? I'd love to, 

but I’m otherwise employ’d.
(Perhaps you’d hear such gypsies 

from the mouth of Sigmund Freud.)

Mr. Misogynist’s Book I (11)

Agatha saggeth. (Ugh!)

Audrey...? Too tawdry.
Bridget…? An 'idjit.'
With Bess, more is less.
     Cleo lacks brio.
Celeste lacks one breast.
Dolores will bore us.
Deniece…? She’s a mess. 
 
Edith might bleedeth
(twin Enid's spent spleen did).
Fleur...? Don't phone her!
Her sis Floss hits the sauce.
    Gertrude…? She's curt, rude.
Gwen's not yet ten.
Hortense abhors gents;
Helene…? Gathers moss.
 
Iris will tire us;
Imelda...? They've kill'd ‘er
Juana...? Manana!
Joan...? Leave her alone.
     Kate's overweight; 
sister Kath needs a bath.
Letitia's pernicious;
Lucille tends to moan.
 
Marlo…? No Harlowe
Mavis...? Lord save us! 
Nancy'd prove rancid;
Nadeen, too's, unclean.
     Olive's re-pahls-ive!
Odette we've not met.
Paige caught a phage.
Prunella's obscene!
 
Queen's just thirteen;
her half-sister's a Mister! 
Roxie lacks moxie. 
(Rochelle does as well.)
     Sonia won't phone ya;
Sinead must be paid.
Thalia's a failia; 
Terese looks like hell!
 
Uma's got tumahs.
Ursula…? Worse. (Ooh-la...!)
Vi's now a guy.
Veronica's m'ronic!
     Wallace will gall us.
Wren's gone off men.
Xanthippe's too hippy;
her cousin's bubonic!
 
Yma's a screamah;
Yvette is worse yet.
Zelda...? You've smell'd ‘er…? 
Zorah...? The horrah!
     [Each sister here listed 
is tacky or twisted:
The even ones...? Awful.
The odd ones…? Much poorah!]