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TEN MINUTES THAT DIDN’T SHAKE THE WORLD

They seemed to talk only in metaphor  or simile
And in what they call   stream-of-consciousness - 
These two young women in the café overheard yesterday -
About something boring to the point of unconsciousness;

And a small athlete called Richard  something-or-other 
Although they referred  to him colloquially as Little Dick.
Maybe he was a friend-with-problems  of their mother: 
They spoke of  age, alcohol,  hormones, and  bad technique.

Literary comparisons about throwing a raw sausage into a train tunnel  backhand;
Jokes about stifling a yawn, making it  look like  open-mouth osculation;
Counting ceiling tiles in rhythm: ninety seven, ninety eight, ninety nine, change hands;
Oxymoron, bathos and pathos were all used in their  discussion.

Diversions  (like trying to recall the cost in the grocery store of small shrimp,
Or wondering  if your contact lens has slipped or are you just sleepy-tired )
Didn’t help.   They said Dick’s  performance  was badly timed and as well as rather limp
(Must remember to have the  car’s weak battery  charged  before it’s retired.)

His sport may have been  with aircraft in flight
But his  free-fall  diving ended when he  pulled his string   too soon,   
She said, like a New Year’s rocket launched before midnight ,  
He opened his champagne bottle at 8 am,  before the speech at noon.

Perhaps  a racehorse was involved, but as far as I could gather , 
A very small  racehorse which burst away from the start line too early
And arrived at  the first fence in a lather
And,  she said,  that’s not designed to make   my   toes curly.

They obviously found his performance confusing
And indeed,  by all accounts rather supine.
However,  his efforts seem to have been amusing
And at least it gave the girls literary opportunities to shine
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