Second Vasectomy

They snipped out my tubes,
which promptly grew back.
The heart is fickle,
not gonads so much.
Brought them home
in formaldehyde,
sprouts which spurted
out chromosomes
in a vial I sported
as proof coitus
with me was gratis.
I had quit, I thought,
the dunking wheel
of want and rebirth.
Yet each semen sample
Planned Parenthood sent
a billet-doux back
with the bittersweet fact
legions of zoa
throve in my jism.
At first my hard-ons
rang to the thrill
procreation cannot be
so blithely dismissed
— pleasure soon to be
tempered by steel.
Back on the table
I bore a fresh blade,
severed the tethers
which bound me to spawn.
Four bits in a bottle
now serve to remind,
where lust is centered,
the bone was splintered.
Then it grew strong.

 

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