When
was the next time you were pathetic?
That
picnic at Karnak with the girls?
You
and me (or I, - a saint may choose,)
With
the hamper
On
our defective tilting humper?
Four
legs being better than three, Piggles,
Especially
with camels.
You
were pretty dizzy.
It
was just too big to put in a poke, that
temple,
Just
too grand for a nauseated pigling.
It
was just too much.
We
squinted up at the inadequate ceiling,
Miles
above my tonsura
Miles
above little Laura with the aura,
Miles
above the glowing nimbi of the holy bimbi,
Miles
above your quivering pink snout,
(Well,
maybe not miles!)
And
you were literally
sickened
again.
I
know the guide we settled for didn’t help
Much.
Startling
teeth, princess shoulders,
Bottom
of an Irish cook and the smell of Nubia.
She
reminded you of your mum,
Gave
us some Theban tedium,
Not
one joke!
You,
nip-conscious,
Kept
out of her way.
For
me the highlight was the belly-dance.
BOUM
BOUM!
Saint
Fatima, bless her, big and beautiful,
Thighs
like a glass of Guinness,
Livening
up the picnic
With
two tassels, a fig-leaf
And
that fat scarab in her bouncing navel.
BOUM
BOUM1
You
weren’t too impressed. (Surprise, surprise!)
Dare
say you don’t remember much,
Being
these days very
Dead.
But I have only to close my eyes:
BOUM
BOUM!
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