Hair, there

Now noon,

A weary worker

At a construction site

Retires his tools for a bite

Opens a dabba

Packed by his wife

And finds to his delight

The sign

Of a tiny,

Most miniscule strand

Of pubic hair

A line

Lain down

In an elliptical

Accident

Over a roti

She has prepared

The worker is wise

To show no surprise

Or despair

Women

With needs

No doubt can seek

Many an illicit way

To slake

And satisfy

Their lust

By light of day

Why would she slave

Over a stove

And make rotis

Instead of love

Unless

It is his

Memory

That makes her

Quiver

And sweat

As if in fever

When between

One roti and another

She squeezes the belan

With vigour

Into her underwear

Pantoum

When I am driving the schoolbus,
I am so happy, it hurts.
I grin like a lusty old fool does.
I sneak a peek under the skirts.

I am so happy, it hurts
When, in my mind, I strip them bare.
I sneak a peek under the skirts,
I wonder if they're growing hair.

When, in my mind, I strip them bare,
I know that their mothers are blessed - 
I wonder if they're growing hair
And mothers can see them undressed.

I know that their mothers are blessed -
I grin like a lusty old fool does.
And mothers can see them undressed
When I am driving the schoolbus.

Cinquain

Penis
Male organ
Used for pleasure
Diminished upon recall of
Itself

Haiku

Rain is an excuse
Like summer, spring and winter
To be inside you