An Epic Poem

Kate & Mike

Part 8

Kate:   The Trout Farmer!
The Trout Farmer!
Did he not elope
with the Busty Spanish Squid Charmer?
I find such philosophical musing
really rather confusing.
Confucious he say,
they ran away.
Anyway ...

Last I heard, he'd opened a new farm,
this time troutless, in Vietnam.
I hear he farms the Vietnamese,
valuable beings on account of their knees
which are somehow more shapely than most, you see.
Oh, wondrous and great is the Vietnam Knee!
So noble and proud, so shapely and stout.
No wonder the farmer gave up on trout
who haven't got legs, let alone any knees.
Oh, how spiffing the knees of the Vietnamese!

The track, you may ask, oh readers a-plenty,
is going where now? In this meaningless, empty,
vacuous, bland; yet auspiciously clever
poem that seems to be lasting forever.
This double-penned prose which meanders so sweetly
reflects two warped minds which have lost it completely.
The farmer is merely a metaphor
for something a lot more sinister ...

Mike:   Oh, kneecaps round,
oh, kneecaps protruding,
to what, pray tell,
are you alluding?
Floppy trout farmer,
what do you purport?
Why do you need
these items' support?
Farmer, trout farmer,
continually flopping,
can Vietnamese knees
prevent you from dropping?

Perhaps a kneecap
is really a D cup.
These knees from Vietnam
are really a bra.
And what of the farmer?
My God! What a shocker!
The floppy trout farmer's
a great pair of knockers!

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