| |
A cockatoo named Elsevier
had sipped some of his master's beer.
The alcohol had warmed his heart,
he thought it would be very smart
to raid the Bar for Jägermeister.
His boss who was a lawyer-shyster
would not be home for many hours.
He was a bird with special powers
and turned the cabinet's gold key,
then switched on lights so he could see.
Let's see now, there is the Wild Turkey,
which does go well with Angus Jerky,
and Ouzo from the Isle of Crete,
which should be drunk well-chilled but neat.
So many bottles, endless choices...
He suddenly heard female voices
come through the door into the lounge,
the bird, determined still to scrounge,
took beakfuls of an aged Pernod
and pretty soon felt like a crow,
though he was lilywhite and gold,
the Crest Of Kings he had been told.
The master's wife came in at last
and saw the bird (it was a blast) ,
who tried to balance on the lamp,
below, the carpet showed a damp
and greenish looking worm-like spot.
The lady said 'This sure is NOT
permitted in this noble house! '
And as she stood, her bright blue blouse
became desirable attraction
for Happy Hour drunken action.
Head-over-heels the cockatoo
dived in between those lovely two
mammary swellings, well confined,
where he was stuck and nearly blind.
You see, when women are in rage
their breathing then expands the cage,
which houses, on the outside, breasts
and underneath the vital rest.
The guardians of his new-found prison
had, through expansion thus arisen
from comfort-fit to bulging tight,
thus one can understand his plight.
Another trait that women bear
is that they like their underwear
kept free of any cockatoos,
regardless how much potent booze
they have imbibed, so that was that.
I would not even bet a nickel
that she would, at the slightest tickle
of 'too-down feathers on her boobs,
so close to lactogenic tubes
that lead into the breasts' interior
and parallel to some superior
and very touchy sens'ry nerves...
which means that her majestic curves
reacted with expected shock.
She ripped it off and yelled 'You COCK,
you are not welcome in my house,
look what you've done to my new blouse.'
And so the day proved once again
that liquor is reserved for men.
And cockatoos who live in houses
should never dive down into blouses.
And French Pernod at three o'clock
can turn a bird into a cock.
And cocks, it must be said, should stay
from ladies' breasts quite far away.
Herbert Nehrlich
|
|
User Rating: |
|
--
/10
(0 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend