When Alice watched space shuttles launch on TV,

There would pool in her panties a puddle.

As she gobbled up popsicles, weakened of knee,

Would her fair, freckled skin flush and ruddle.

‘Neath her pillow went pickles and cold cobs of corn,

Troves of Twinkies amassed ‘mongst her socks,

Dismayed neighbors watched on, once, as Alice, one morn,

Chased the Weinermobile fifteen blocks.

Funk & Wagnalls defines “Phallophilia” as

“A neurosis (one, often erotic)

Characterized by compulsions,” it says,

“Which beleaguer the smitten psychotic.”

Evidently, those stricken are apt to display

(As established in case study “Alice”)

“A proclivity toward,” the text goes on to say,

“That which holds or pertains to the phallus.”

Well, the Washington Monument made her toes curl,

Pisa’s Tower too, Lean, long, and powerful.

“Oh, had these erections but arms,” gushed the girl,

Dreaming how the two might Eiffel Tower her.


So, although the cigar on which Freud’s claim lay base,

Was, in fact, often just a cigar,

It would seem that we deem this, in Alice’s case,

A fallacious notion thus far.

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