Coffee and Sherry
Coffee, it is evident, is not Sherry's cup of tea;
She likes spirits like sherry and brandy
and knows the ropes of winemaking to a tee;
An oenologist by profession, like her pal Brandy,
found her niche in viticulture. Numbers of spirits
she's tasted, as a sommelier whose forté is wine
tasting. Oddly enough, she will actually whine
if I try to talk her out of dealing with other spirits.
She's involved in paranormal practices
and that chills me to the bone. She will lock up
in her tiny cubicle for hours to "communicate
with the beyond" and claims to have connected
with certain famous individuals after their
departures and says they are doing fine.
At least she says my "poems" blow her socks
off but I ought to massage her ducky feet
so that she read my verse. If I don't, she socks
me right in the gob! I feel I accomplish a feat
without an oxygen mask. It's not easy to bear
whatsoever the task of massaging her bare
dogs though I'm glad I don't have to polish
her toenails. She never paints 'em. Her Polish
friend concurs that Sherry is a little cracked
in the upper storey.
Dating a 146 IQ girl isn't all it's cracked
up to be. End of story.
I'm wondering: If we were in the North Pole
would she be barefoot so often? The Pole
thinks so and misses the golden days
when they both made money doing pole
dancing. "Boy we would definitely daze
the men at the club. They voted each night
for the best dancer. Most times the polls,
I have to admit, were in Sherry's favor.
Jolly times. But don't you dare have the gall
to say a word. She helps folks lose weight
today and loves it. Be kind to my half-Gaul
half-Brit friend and don't have her wait
when she wants foot massage. You would
be putting your foot in your mouth. Now go
put your feet up." Well, knock on wood,
the Pole's words made me feel lucky. Yo!
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