Though some would close the subject out,
And of it, ne'er deign to speak.
I laugh at the thought that I'll take a drink,
and, through pinholes, start to leak!
My fingers are so stylish,
Polka-dotted, brown on beige,
from the tests I take. One day, you'll see
I'll make fashion mag front-page!
I know, when I try to set foot
through testy airport doors,
Security will round me up
and drag me 'cross the floors.
"What's this??" they'll cry, lifting up
a case of which they've nabbed.
"Why sir," I say, "T'is but slim skewer,
My flesh is quite well-stabbed!"
So many people seem to gasp
At black and blue paint on my thighs.
I shrug and laugh, and say I welcome them,
Better them then my demise!
When people pity my sad fate,
I simply laugh and say,
"At least this range of needles mean
I'll live another day!"