once idly wandered the wharfs of New York,
like Charles L. Dodgson, but hunting for snork,
and found there a girl set to pass on review:
a cunningly cute parvenue.
I curtailed my search on a quay in Paree
for some lass du jour (but who’d toujours love me);
instead, vowed to wow this snafu from Baku
who’d love me till death us undo.
She sent me away – a degenerate jerk –
to diddle with donkeys in dingy Dunkirk,
or else, to get clued in on ewes from Baku,
who do it with didgeridoo.
And so from Mockba, where I’d spied in a spa
a spry thing from Riga in sporty red bra,
I sent the news home to my girl from Baku,
who mauled it like one mad emu.
I next found a floozie in boozie Berlin.
“Just try her!” I cried with Catullian grin.
“Refreshingly hip!” quipped my girl from Baku,
forgetting that I’d had her, too.
I then ripped a kid off the grid of Madrid,
who’d offered me whores as baksheesh for my bid
to find him a strumpety girl from Baku
as fetching as my Guinea Pooh.
I last hooked some kink in the heart of Helsink’ –
a pert pair who’d plied me with VSOPink.
I flung both Finns out for my girl from Baku…
who left me to stew with ‘Fuck you!’
Bittner lives and scribbles on a small island
off the East Coast of the United States. The island is called
‘Long’ and his borough is called ‘Brooklyn.’
Some of his work ends up on the ‘Net or on the printed page;
most of it ends up in the trash. “Collisions” stayed
for a long time in his head – but eventually came spilling
out in an effort to be rid of itself, if not of him.
2008 by Russell Bittner