Eyes wove robes from shared admiration.
Each gaze embroidered yet more shining threads.
Wonder strode down the fashion's catwalk,
Perfectly poised, utterly debonair.
Beauty fashioned the glittering robes.
Pain stitched up the sleeve of seams.
Pleasure pressed the starched collars flat.
Pride applauded the flawless perfect fit.
Then, one by one, every eye looked away.
The robes dissolved as gazes fell away.
The couturier dethroned, stood naked and alone.
Nothing had ever clothed his candle light.
Of Spinach and Women
By Elton Camp
Any lover of spinach it has to be feared
Has a taste for women that’s also weird
About his girlfriend, it’s easy to see why
Since the sailor seems to have but one eye
A single eye should be all that he does need
To see that the lady is surely not up to speed
First, no good can be said about her couturier
She wears the same clothes every single day
Her blouse is always one that is long-sleeve
And that’s to hide her spindly arms, I believe
Nothing much is revealed by any of the rest
Except that the lady has a totally flat chest
Then the black skirt with a tiny stripe of brown
At second-hand clothing store she must’ve found
The high-top shoes should be worn by a clown
The horrible white socks with top turned down
Her measurements not a man would care to know
They are exactly the same from her head to her toe
A baby that she tend to only adds to all of the rest
Since Sweetpea’s parentage is questionable at best
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