Modish Qualms
I name this dead wasp "Halitosis"
Ask the doctor the true prognosis,
If only to prevent osmosis
His coffin, this old ukulele
Shaped like the body of a lady,
Leads the mourners, dancing gaily
My anorak serves as his shroud
A sop to the fashionable crowd
In their loudness they are too proud
His tombstone, this putrid potato
His mourner a hamster called Plato
His widow alights on a pillow,
This counterpane, now his bouquet
Makes us think it's all okay,
But no, alas, he's gone away!
Leaving us our mournful dirge,
While the organist summons the urge
To spend a little more, to splurge!
Splurging is what I like best
When I return to the nest
Where drones are quite queenly caressed
We'll build another nest,
And die like all the rest
This will be our morbid quest.
| Contributors: | Roland, Stacy, P, TG, Lucretia, Bop. |
| Poem finished: | 16th February 1997. |