Mary had a fiancee
she called him Jack the Ripper,
because the fellow liked to play
all day with his own zipper.

When Mary found that it was not
the zipper he admired,
Jack searched all day for the small tot
until he grew too tired.

He held a magnifying glass
inside and lit his Zippo,
but all he did was burn his ass
and still there was no hippo.

Jack's grandma had instilled in him
that he would grow a beaver,
his brother, just a trifle dim
had married in a fever.

His brother's wife had come at night
and reached beneath the covers,
she thought it might be quite alright
if they became two lovers.

Jack did wake up and asked the ghost
might you be freezing cold,
he would, he said, play perfect host
and do as he was told.

She slipped inside the featherbed
and both were wide awake.
When suddenly young Jacko said
let's please play patty-cake.

It would, he knew keep arm and hand
and muscles in condition,
the girl then left, I understand,
she failed in this, her mission.

Next night the spiel repeated, true
and Jack had thought a little,
had sought advice from his own crew
and soon he noticed spittle,

which ran down from his double chin
and landed on his chest,
one party did expect a pin
to find the proper nest.

Soon both were sweating in pursuit
but it was like Houdini,
it might have been quite stout and cute
and not a little wienie.

At four Am, she left again
her hair and gown in tatters,
a beaver may not grow on men,
but it is size that matters.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yes-size-does/