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From a collection of poems about the misfortunes of other people.

James was a World class dancer

Feted for his skill

His Arabesque, his Pas de deux

And he’d be dancing still

If he hadn’t got the taste

For Mrs Perkins pies

Full of meat, a real treat

Which just increased his size

He also liked her donuts

Her flapjacks and her tarts

As her jelly stretched his belly

He got fewer parts

That fateful night whilst in the wings

A soft éclair he spied

And opened up his cakehole

And popped that treat inside

He leapt on to the stage and tripped

His partner gave a scream

On the deck, he broke his neck

He’d slipped on some whipped cream


Published by crispinunderfelt

All round good egg. Humanist and red wine drinker.

3 thoughts on “Pies

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