Commando bikini girl on the patio - the original poem I wrote a while back

Commando bikini girl on the patio
with squirt gun spurting wildly
defending her paved grotto's denizen
from attacks on high above
where the guerilla squirrels scamper
along the walnut trees limbs
finding their nutritious ordnance
to send down upon her friend.
she dances too and fro,
working the lower in between her cheeks
more and more with each step
and pirouette she makes.
All the tree varmints of the block
come to join the fray with chattering joy,
plucking the green, brown, and even ripe black
fruits of the trees they live and frolic in
to race over to their dedicated impact range.
To bombard those using the stone and brick patio
and take back their nut storage acreage.
Bombing run after bombing run the shells rain down
until grabbing the cat off the sofa squirt gun
and screaming in the good kind of insane rage
and firing back with the high-powered streams
of water at the rodents of arboreal penthouses.
Like an action movie heroine, her aim is quick and true
scoring hits on the Squirrel Liberation Army troops
who soon begin to realize its a game indeed
and that is when the smile creased her face
as the battle changes to who can hit who
with water or nuts, and her man becomes the goal
for the sailing husks descending from on high.
A vision of loveliness as she fights on
with laughter, joy and smiles
like the children cheering her on
from the sidewalk art projects
they had stopped making
to enjoy the humorous show.
The Realtree Girl pink camo,
muted with its greens and browns
ingaccents the curves of circling hips
in motions of the sweet hula dance,
as she takes on the rodents
and their nutshell bombs.
Her breasts bounce gently
in their fuchsia and vermillion confines
mesmerizing the object
of her desires and defense.
who watches her with a smile
and twinkle of lustful love
in his deep blue eyes
as she stirs him up to amour
for her once again as when they met
until the blue jays join the fray,
stuka diving to deliver their objections
in the form of white chemical attacks
they normally save for the car
when it is freshly washed and waxed.
Driving them from the outside back in
where they dry each other off
with towels still warm from the dryer
forget to don their garbs once more
as they seek to turn their couch
into a most holy of altars to be found
performing the rites of Aphrodite's delight.