A flic de la rue
Always knew what to do;
Whether disarming bombs
Or shouting alarms,
He was a Frenchman though and through.
In the Art of Disguise
He was often unwise,
In fact he one time went nude;
With an unplayed guitar
He got into his car,
And showed he wasn't a prude;
He wouldn't relent
A hound on the scent
When pursuing those outside "the loo."
He practiced Karate
Though his houseboy was dotty
While bedding Yvette Mimieux.
David McLansky's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Inspector Clouseau by David McLansky )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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