Skywards in Epping's Impenetrable Parkland
'I hear you have a speaker-phone'
Cried Emma, as she sat alone
Weeping o'er her solitude,
As, sadly, she drank Bolly, nude
Wallowing in immoral thoughts
Of beige, or puce, or coral sorts
As might befit a sophomore
With flu, who coughs a cough or four,
Immoral thoughts, we say again,
Of porn roles which she'd play again
With naked men and silk-clad whores
And one exploited big sad horse
(Called Cahrlie Chaplin by his friends)
As Emma dreams of filth, she mends
Some tired stockings from Nepal
To send to lepers in Bengal
Who walk on hands and knees:
There's not many of these
Who would pass up a cup of broth
And a free read of 'Grapes of Wrath'
Emma, then, a classy piece,
But not, perhaps, a masterpiece
Compared with others of her kind
Not quite perfectly designed
One could forgive the extra breast
But not, quite honestly, the rest:
The scales upon her arms, her knees -
The neck that reaches to the trees -
A sight, quite frankly, to behold
As when her trunk-like nose unfolds
It amplifies her fuffy cheeks
And ends in a bright yellow beak!
Emma's eyes surveyed the dawn;
There were no lizards on the lawn,
Nor were there lizards in the trees
but Dr Suess supplied some bees
From South Dakota (or Hong Kong),
As happy as the days were long.
Emma thought to don some clothes -
While muttering some fearful oaths
That made the very twilight chill
Lucky FORTE
Plucky piano, if you will
Choose to stop feeling naughty...
Contributors: | Apsley, P, fester, Mary, dkb, Sharon, OldMasterQ, riiiipppskii, Toni, Beefy, Anon.. |
Poem finished: | 7th December 2001. |