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Spam Poet

Do you see that detritus in your inbox as fodder for verse? No? Then meet the Spam Poet, who takes everyday junk mail and turns stink into stanza. KEVIN GUILFOILE waxes poetically.

light verse inspired by unsolicited email



‘Supercharge Your Sex Life’

Take one Prosextra
And sex will improve
To an art that your partners
Will call ‘making Louvre.’

Take two Prosextra
And you will compare to
The hundreds of lovers
E.T. has linked Cher to.

Take three Prosextra
(If you’ve never had ‘em)
For kinky, cacoph’nous,
Gymnastic orgasms.

Take four Prosextra,
Your skills will be cheered
By the sixth, fourth, and third
to last ‘Pets of the Year.’

Take five Prosextra
And Saud Princes will pay
For one night in your arms
When they’re not even gay.

Take six Prosextra
And you’ll be post-tantric
And master the forbidden
‘Wolf-Spider Handtrick.’

Seven Prosextra?
Now that’s ill-advised,
As your testes will grow
To an unwieldy size.

God! Eight Prosextra!
Quick! To the E.R.!
But your testicles
No longer fit in the car!

Nine Prosextra and
Your nuts grow handles on top
So it looks like you’ve
Straddled a Hippity Hop!

Ten whole Prosextra?
Now that will explode ‘em.
You’ll shoot like a rocket:
An I-C-B-scrot-M.

Six or less Prosex,
though, that’s still okay
For the stud who’s concerned
About what his balls weigh.



* * *


‘The ‘Family’ Farm’

The incestral farm where my incestors lived
Had its own quirky charms like a three neck-ed bib.
For my tri-headed cousin who weaned on a goat
That was born his half sister, spawned of wild oats
Sown by Pa who became his own father-in-law
When he wed a stepdaughter with kangaroo paws.

The incestral home where my incestors settled
Forged familial bonds much like fusible metal.
When sisters are told to do unto their brothers,
When bunnies are sold to be both pets and lovers,
And your mother’s your grand-niece it’s just common sense
To refer to your kids in the past-perfect tense.

The incestral house where my incestors thrived,
Where my great-great-great grandads took cats for their wives:
Though it’s true one or two kept a ewe on the side,
They loved their mutated, feline hybrid pride.
Would I be quarter-calico, given my druthers?
Yes! Love is this family’s inbred-and-butter.