“I know vhat you are sinking, Peter.” Dr. von Berlow groaned in his guttural low-German.

“You are sinking you vish you had ze sexual stamina of dese Emperor penguins.”

Peter blushed. It was true. He struggled to maintain his dignity.

“I’m fine Dr. B. I’ll just focus on my clinical observations.”

Dr. von Berlow chuckled and let it go.

Peter was unable to conceal the tent being pitched in the vicinity of his crotch. He was out of control! Jesus, he thought, my dick is my master.

Dr. B: “You know Peter, it’s okay to be human. After all, ve are humans first, scientists second.”

“Damn it all!” Peter shouted, hurling a beaker to the floor where it shattered, splattering a liter of penguin semen all over the lab.

“I’m not cut out for this, Dr. B.” Peter fell to his knees, sobbing. His mighty tent collapsed into a rumple of khaki.

Dr. B took a mop out of the closet and slowly sopped up the shard-speckled spunk while Peter pulled himself together.

“You know vhat you have to do now, young man.”

Peter sniffed and straightened his shoulders. “I won’t disappoint you Dr. B.”

He walked with determination into the chilly mating room where he was swarmed by a herd of male Emperors, each vying to be the first to make a donation.

“What an idiot!” he thought, pushing past his pain.

But there was no going back. The entire Texas panhandle was swarming with MPs looking for a tubby middle-aged white man in a grass skirt.

“How was I to know?” Elmer wailed at the night.

The sergeant had started out all frisky and playful.

Then, his meaty hand between Elmer’s thighs.

The sergeant’s shocking discovery.

The whole platoon roaring at Sarge’s naiveté.

Sarge going for the pistol in his boot.

Elmer’s shriek.

The beer-stoked bullet-peppered tussle.

Sarge on the sawdust floor, bleeding from between his tight, toned pecs.

Elmer escaping through the pantry in the ensuing melee.

Hitching a freight—like a hobo, for goodness sake!

Crossing state lines to the relative safety of Oklahoma.

And now, Elmer, alone at the end of the night.

But for the first time not lonely.

Energized by the imbroglio.

And alive, really and finally alive.

©Lisa Martinovic

Lisa’s CD, Snake Dreams, is also available for $10+$2 postage.

To purchase, email Lisa: poemedy [at] aol com

East Bay Poetry Express feature, March 19, 2012

Oakland Beast Crawl, July 7, 2012

West Coast Regional Slam, Big Sur, Summer 2000

Lisa performs improv and hosts an Improv Slam with Magic Jester Theater on the second Saturday of each month at the Temescal Art Center. [except March 2013, because she'll be featuring in Alameda; see above.]