Barbecue Sores
Folded like a deck-chair
In the upper bunk
Sleep was fleeing from my fevered brow
Haunted by that lecture
I felt that I was sunk
It was SUCH a heap of junk!
Decked with folding paper
And a party hat
Racked by visions of a rabid sow
Brandishing a taper
I felt myself go white
My hair was burning bright!
Zonked-out with tequila
It went down worm and all
Reminding me of what must have been a nasty row
Involving Tony Wheeler
Before he had that fall
While practising the crawl
Taken out and painted
Puce, vermilion, gold
Carved into the likeness of a dhow
Not wholly unacquainted
With the fishermen of old
Who dredge the streets for gold
Clapped-out; renovated
At a bargain price
Steering like the back end of a cow
And, while our fate was fêted
It could have been quite nice
To swallow all the dice
Sleeping like a baby
On the lower deck
Avoids the taxing headache
Now, working out if maybe
Another chance, entrancing
Though the light-effect is prancing
Dancing on the ceiling
Cheek to glowing cheek
Sinuously entwined like serpents on a bough
A flagon of Darjeeling
A dish of ham and leek
Will leave us lithe and sleek
| Contributors: | P, Roland, Grayman, E Greejius, TG, KT, Elizabeth, The Agent Apsley, The Agent Aspley. |
| Poem finished: | 14th January 2000. |