The Stubborn MulebyCal Y. Pygia©
One day, delivering his dung,
Nick, a peasant handsome and young,
Was forced to trail his stubborn mule,
Through a street which he, as a rule,
Avoided, because its strong smell
Was, to him, a stench worse than hell:
Herbs and spices, he found, were foul
Enough to make him faint or howl.
Although others loved the pungent
Aroma, fragrance, and scent
Of the herbs and spices, he found
Them offensive, and, as he frowned,
He tugged the obstinate mule's reins,
'Tho his effort was all in vain:
The beast plodded past stalls and stands
Which spread their scents on every hand.
Past cinnamon and cardamom
Basil, cumin, and capsicums,
Ginger, garlic, cloves, and peppers,
The mule plodded; Nick's vision blurred,
His face flushed, and his eyes watered;
He tried to speak, but his words slurred;
His throat, on fire, tightened; he sneezed,
And, when he tried to breathe, he wheezed.
Examining the paracress
And neem, none noticed Nick's distress;
Among the sumac and sorrel,
No one noticed Nick when he fell;
Busy with dill seed and cudweed,
None observed Nick begin to bleed;
He could have died among the rue,
As, near the sage, his face turned blue.
Indeed, not one of the passersby
Was concerned that young Nick might die;
None who saw him, 'though he looked dead,
Raised a cry or seemed to be led
To examine him or seek aid;
For, if dead, he had not decayed,
And, even if he were to rot,
His odor here could compete not.
Only one in the marketplace
Had both the kindness and the grace
To aid him during his distress,
For she was his beloved mistress.
“Fear not, my sweet,” she said. “I know
How much this stench has caused you woe!”
Lifting her skirt, she dropped her drawers,
Saying, “But my own scent restores!”
Although Nick was sinking fast, a whiff
Of her sex made him twitch and sniff;
His eyes opened wide, and he grinned,
Saying, “It's nice to see a friend.”
Squatting over his face, she let
Her gushing cunt be a faucet,
Its waters reviving him
For whom Hope itself had seemed dim.
The closer she squatted, the more
Sustenance he took, 'til restored
Altogether, he then declared,
“I'm whole again, because you bared
Your privy parts, and their sweet smell
Made me hale, hearty, strong, and well:
In smelling you, I thought of you,
And the thought of you pulled me through.
“The foul stench of each herb and spice
Some folks' appetites may entice,
But their odors bring me great strife,
For they remind me of my wife.
A bad cook, she is a worse lay,
Whose cunt is drier ev'ry day.
Because she cannot be too lewd,
She tries to please me with her food.
“I am too young, she is too old;
When I get frisky, she must scold;
She stays dry even when I get stiff--
Can you see, now, why a faint sniff
Of herbs and spices such as she
Is always foisting off on me,
With a dash of this or a bit
Of that, the nagging, wizened bitch
Is one whom I would like to ditch?
“At the thought of her that these smells
Awaken in me, my heart quells;
I should have died, if not for you.
Who sprinkled me with the moist dew
From the flower of you wet sex,
Cleansing me bodily of her hex;
Your perfume overcomes the foul stench
Of my wife, a cold, sexless wench.”
His mistress, Diane, took Nick's hand,
And helping him to rise and stand,
Sat him astride the stubborn ass,
And when the beast of burden sassed,
She whacked it hard upon its flank.
“Thank you,” said Nick, but she said, “Thank
Me when we deliver the rest
Of this dung and are home, undressed.”
So here ends the tale of a mule
Too stubborn for its keep; a rule
Now must be appended, for a verse
Of this sort does require, of course,
A moral to round out its lines,
And this is it: when a man dines,
He does not want to eat spiced meat,
But hair pie is a welcome treat.