Morning Wood - a poem

It feels like a normal morning as I roll out of bed
But something's just a little off, I know in my head
I couldn't discern what it was til I stood
When I realized I was preceded exit by my morning wood

Standing tall for all to view and see
Hidden by my Fruit of the Loom-branded tent
I snickered when I knew no one would accuse me
Upon seeing it, they couldn't tell me to get bent

Stiff and tall, straight and long
Bobbing around just as if it belonged
Just can't get it to simmer down
Waving, wobbling, as I walk around

Not that used to this morning affliction
I sit in discomfort as I read today's edition
I try to scratch, but all it does is tickle
The itch won't go away on my vertical pickle

I cross my legs when I feel it throb
As I prepare for my day at the job
Before I dressed I knew I'd be a fool
If I didn't deflate my overinflated tool

Seeking certain finalizing release
As my fingers began to brush and tease
I wondered what I had dreamt that was so good
To give me such pernicious and pleasurable morning wood.