My top ten will always be my fingers and toes.
One more makes eleven if you’re counting my hose.
Oops, was that a Freudian typo, I meant my nose.
Without my top ten, couldn’t walk or flick off, if I chose,
let alone spray water on my favorite red rose.
Perhaps I could think of more if I juxtapose.
But then the numbers would inflate when my list grows.
I’m trying my best to enumerate with prose,
getting back to the theme before my mind forgoes.
Maybe I’ll set it right after I repose,
easier to see when I’m not wearing much clothes.
Too late, said I, as I continue struggling to compose.
I feel like a lawyer who is about to depose.
Glad I’m not a doctor known to misdiagnose.
Now that you have read this, I’ve something to propose.
The run around I gave you had nothing to disclose,
cept maybe wishing it was in polyphonic prose!
*For the “Top Ten Contest.” Joe, surely I jest!