Old Man Brxb

A place for my poems

Gatherin’ Desert Shrimp

Gatherin’ Desert Shrimp
by J. Carl Brooksby 

Oft’ times my mind will wander,
Though I am old and gimp,
Back to those days back yonder,
And gatherin’ desert shrimp.

Now, kids ‘n ladies, turn around
An’ quickly walk away. 
There’s sex an’ violence herein;
So, what more need I say?

You’ve heard of mountain oysters
And the source from whence they come;
Well, the shrimp have a similar background,
But they’re smaller than your thumb.

Each spring, the little lambies
Are taken from their ma’s
And to make the scene more tragic,
They don’t even know their pa’s.

A kid will catch them one by one,
To the lambs, it don’t make sense,
When he grabs aholt of all four legs
An’ sits ’em on the fence.

If they only knew, that man they face,
With a sharpened knife,
Holds their future in his hands:
The keys to death an’ life.

First thing he does is notch their ears
An’ then he bobs their tail
That ends it if the lamb’s a she:
God help him if he’s male.

The “he” lamb has a hairy bag
That’s cut off at the tip.
Exposin’ two small objects;
From yer fingers they would slip.

The one sure way to git ’em, is
Ta put yer nose down in their wool,
Then grasp ’em firmly ‘twixt yer teeth
An’ give a gentle pull.

Then the kid’ll drop the little lamb,
An’ he takes off with a limp.
He’s become an organ donor 
Of two fine desert shrimp.

Meanwhile, ya have the slippery things
A dangling from yer lips.
It’s crucial not ta swaller now,
Or down yer throat they’ll slip.

Ya slowly turn yer head around
An’ spit ’em in the pan;
Y’ can hardly wait fer supper,
If you are half a man.

Y’ fry ’em well in bacon grease
An’ add terbasko sauce.
Ta think of somethin’ tastier,
I’m completely at a loss.

Don’t seek ’em in a butcher shop,
Or at the grocery store.
Y’ll have to go an’ gather ’em
As in the days of yore.

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