Pious Hens of Unknowing
What kind of men are these, with beards and balding pates?
How dare they sell us cough drops, spouting William Butler Yeats?
You'd think they'd have outgrown by now this schoolboy fascination
Or found another market for their bogus medication
What kind of drops sell they, with verse embossed atop?
How dare they claim the output was inspired by van der Bop?
You'd think that they'd create a form awash in fresh uniqueness
Or found a school of Janov scream to vent a cougher's bleakness
What kind of cough is this, that coded message sends?
To make a man a millionaire before the program ends?
You'd think that their remorse would dash the dot stuck in their craw
Or rearrange contestant names and call the game a draw.
What kind of game is this, that only men can play?
And only men, at that, who wear a tailcoat colored gray?
And why the beards? - no sucker buys "My hair has travelled south"...
"To leave my scalp so cold and form a duvet for my mouth"
What kind of duvet this, that migrates overnight?
Who ducks and runs for cover, playing down their dandered fight?
Goose and Duck, Quail and Gander
(Forgive that line: too many cough drops made my thoughts meander)
Contributors: | Beefy, Kansas Sam, Grayman, Irene, chaise, Nigel Sly. |
Poem finished: | 23rd February 2004 by Irene. |