A Fourth Shortcake Detector
Continuous as the sharks that dine
On your remains (or are they mine?)
He waits for her with hope sublime
To hire the Polish pantomime
For Lent
He does dote upon - as male he can -
Pink the meat, we call spam
He buys it from a Turk named Sam
Who gets it from an old Imam
In Ghent
How curious, you may choose to think
He only writes with amber ink
As his wife mulls around the local precinct
Without a hint of taint or tinct
Or Dent
His innocence is of a kind
That stems from rather simple minds
Who never feel the least inclined
To let themselves a jot unwind
Repent!
He likes to fondle, in the dark,
The spam from Sam, the Turkish clerk,
For, shunning daylight's tawdry spark,
The undead frolic in the park
Just went...
| Contributors: | Roland, P, Stacy Alexander, Apsley, Beefy, Anon., Jamesy, jamesy, dkb, fester. |
| Poem finished: | 12th November 2002. |