UPLC Welcomes Penobscot Pilkington, III As A Young Poet To Southern Poetry Law Center

Readers, to keep you entertained and our page on the web open we solicited Mrs. Carroll Pierpont Gibson's son, Penobscot Pilkington, III, from her third marriage which failed just like the first two, to submit a poem. Whoring wives become ex-wives in all but some of the most extenuating circumstances.

Anyway, Penobscot Pilkington, III, affectionately known around Cedar Grove as Little PP3, since his father Penobscot Pilkington, Jr started it by exclaiming when Penobscot,III was born, "That child can't be mine. He has a serious micro penis, problem!"
The child was sent to the best pediatric urologist in the nation at the time who was an attending at the Yale Medical School, DR. Malcomb Merkin Manfred Dick, IV, of the Boston Manfred Dicks. Dr. Dick ran the necessary testing and determined Penobscot, III was a victim of "fetal penile demise", FPD.

The way I understand FPD is exceedingly rare and is caused when the fetus has a premature prediliction for handling the junk from 20 weeks gestation on. The FPD fetus has his hand clasped tightly around the penis and it has no room to grow with the rest of the baby. It is a pitiful sight and kept poor LIttle PP3 from all school activities save for band where he excelled. Little PP3 is a grown man with a neonate's twig and berries. He even has to sit to pee! Oh the humanity!

His affliction has embittered him somewhat to life and it shows in his poetry. So without any further fanfare I give you the following:



MISTY WATERCOLOR MAMMARIES

by Penobscot Pilkington, III

Bessie was a moo-cow.
The farmer liked her fine.
Ask him, he would tell you,
"She is udderly divine!"

Lenore the lonely chicken
Craved a mate, but who?
Ask her and Lenore would cluck,
"Any cock 'll doodle do!"

Tess the turkey loved fowl play.
The others called her loose
Just cause Tess was prone to bone
Old Benedict, the goose.

In my mind's eye, there's Fats the hog.
Around the sty he crawls
Asking all the sows to, "Please,
Just taste my sausage balls!"

The curds are in the blender.
Push the button, cause a stir.
Look closer, child and you may see
Just the whey we whir.

I am Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty and Southern Poetry Law Centers