I’ve just noticed
that my third boob —
a surplus nipped areola,
smaller, less pigmented,
lower, left of center,
roughly midway
between east tit
and belly button —
is almost gone.
Vanishing from neglect,
I suspect, or maybe just
obscured by “the beard
on my belly”, dubbed
such by my nephews
a dozen years ago.

Yes, I just shared the first fifteen lines of a riff on my third breast. True. The poem. The boob. Too offbeat for your sensitive ears, eyes, disposition? I totally understand. Sorry. But it wanted, no, needed to see the light of day. And now that it has maybe it’ll vanish. The poem. Not the boob…