The Short Load Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Just twenty klicks on Friday after work,
the stubby shorts, my T-shirt of Desire,
I need the exercise to stay within some reason
we now have summer here, the temperature is up.

And in between I had, while no one looked and snooped,
created one more poem for the week to post,
I'd do the typing with my usual two fingers,
and watch the ratings of the trolls for entertainment.

There was the news to watch at first when I got home
the Yanks were killing one good woman who was down,
then dinner beckoned and was bloodwurst with Dijon,
until at last I sat in my most worn out chair.

'Oh, dear, did you by any chance tonight,
with usual and disturbing speed grab my blue shorts? '
'I washed them quickly, ' came the answer from the spouse,
'the shortest load so you can wear them early morning.'

Thus I found out to my considered 'Au Chagrin',
that even short loads eat all words that I create
the world will never know the meaning of this classic,
but I assure you that the rating would be twenty.