Maria and Pedro
A
By Izzy Sommers
Maria,
Met Pedro, content in the corridor;
She twinkled her eyes
And measured his size
Conceding, perhaps, he had four or more.
Expecting the worse, she evaded him
In favour of Alex, the tiny Tim;
Complete with the veils
She tempted his sails
And added his brother inside the gym.
Exhausted, Maria declined to come
With Tim and his Jim to the Thimble Thumb;
Instead she took wine
With lemon and brine
To rooms in the Restaurant Crushy Crumb.
Surprised by our Pedro of
Maria accepted a gift to go
To old town
Where no meant you did
A dance of the genre of
In essence, Mario fit Pedro’s gun
Like holster’s submitted by everyone;
She glowed for the crowd
And whispered out loud
If Pedro were Jewish, he’d be the one.
When Pedro converted to Heresy
Maria converted to Vanity;
Together they made
A couple and laid
The tiles for a bedroom in
The talk of the town was the statuesque
Maria adorned with computer desk;
She dazzled her beau
With beer and
Behaving so Sartre- and Kafkaesque.
In chalets and copacabanas they
Insulted some wives with some curds and whey;
Ole, said Jose
As both of them lay
Frontal naked in
This story must end with some strategy
To filter off comedy/tragedy
Assaulted in June
By Daniel the Boon
Maria got pregnant celerity.
When Pedro defended his honour with pride
The Boon ripped large hole in his underside;
Poor Pedro was pooped
And had to be scooped
By Atkins and Barrister Fratraside.
Maria was left with a swollen hump
To ward of the charges that made her jump;
She had her cartoon
Redrawn in
And settled for honey and half a lump.
Resolved to correct any rumours of
Collusion and mayhem and puppy love,
Maria refined
Her star undermined
And posed in the nude for the Turtle Dove.
Republished in
Maria’s Madonna, “SENSATIONAL!”
Rekindled the star
That’s seen from afar
On mountains and forests in
Suffice it to say, there is evidence
That love found it’s way through the forest, dense,
That over the years,
The joy and the tears,
The white picket fence was a good defence.
Maria may you have your pleasure in
Marcello, Petroika and Pallidin;
You’ve lived like a queen,
So sobre and clean,
It’s shameful you’re throwing your shmatteh in.
THE END
©Izzy Sommers
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