Plaisir

Diarrhea: what nobody likes,
though a word the French love to pronounce.
They surround it with lips and tongue;
it pleases, like saying cellar door does.
Once I gave a pair of tweezers
to an au pair girl who couldn’t extract
a splinter from her foot. It was a pleasure
for both of us to see that little thing come out.

More Poems by Stephen Dunn