The Ecphorizer
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Had he but words enough, and time He would be suited to our clime; His mistress could decline and balk While Marvell never ceased to talk In adoration of each breast, Yet never put her to the test. Time's winged chariot urged him on, But he would prate and prate anon, Till, bored, she all his lust declined, Convinced he'd only f-- her MIND!  He is a doctor and a poet who lives in Guatamala More Articles by 'Duardo de la Mancha |
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(Or, When I was Anhungered and Athirst, 0 Brussels
Sprout with Buttered Breadcrumbs, Where Were You?) The parsnip and the artichoke Are not for me. And not for me The turnip, crook'd neck squash, And gassy kohlrabi. The cabbage and the lowly leek I leave alone. I leave alone The soup greens, white radishes, And peppers in the minstrone. But spinach (creamed), corn-on-the--cob Is fit for kings. And fit for kings The potato, rice wild or tame And all such fattening things! Our readers will remember Tom Horti for his grim little story of post-nuclear life in the March Ecphorizer. Among other things, Tom is an expert in wholistic massage. |
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