Summer Loving

Here’s one of my poems to read at the beach,
With your bloater-paste sarnies and half eaten peach,
About my pal, Sally, a redundant pole dancer,
Who fell for the charms of moustachioed Lancer.

Now Sally, poor dear, was a girl of good size,
Her arse it was massive, her tits won a prize,
As melons, gigantic, at the Burnley flower show,
(It’s background, I’ve told you, so now you all know!)

One night she was dancing and shaking her stuff,
When some greasy Lothario slips a ten up her muff,
And whispers, there’s plenty, from where that came,
So she rushed down to join him, the girl had no shame,

Till Shamus O’Shaughnessy, the boss of the bar,
Said get you back out there, you’re not finished by far,
So Sally went back and swung round her pole,
But it bent in the middle then snapped like a bowl,

And Sally came flying right off the high stage,
And hit the smug Lancer with the force of a rage,
And his last words were whispered to Sally’s sad eyes,
“This is not how I visualised dying in your thighs.”

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Filed under black humor, black humour, Cautionary tale, comic verse, funny poem, humorous verse, Nonsense verse, whimsy

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