Tried to talk to Walt Whitman
but he grabbed my ass,
cute as I was in my Confederate uniform.
Questioned Thoreau about his pond
but he felt me up,
forcing me to look at his bulging pants.
Went to visit John Berryman
dressed as a young Chicana in a short skirt,
he was all over me.
Had a few drinks with Bukowski,
the old, perverted bastard
wanted to bugger me.
Got out of the cold by calling on Robert Frost,
two roads diverged
and he wanted to eat my snatch.
When I got home I had to take a shower,
then I wrote this poem to warn you
or steer you in the right direction.