Ted, six foot two, perfect
In all parts, green fingered tinged with mold;
Lady-killer instinct from his " eggs " to his chin,
When he dances, there are no flies on him!
Watch him move, he does the Cha- Cha-Cha,
Others are stunned (as he bumps into them)
And say: " Oh! grand, the lad's pissed again.
Get ready for shock - horror then.'
He dosen't last long on the boards,
Shifts sideways and out into the quad;
By a pond, Ted wretches on lily pads,
Breathes in slowly and now feels glad;
Pecs and jaw out, he steps back into
The room; earlier he'd gobsmacked some girl
On the mouth, hoping for a date,
Got a black -look, thought he'd better wait.
Poor Ted, he's behind glass now,
That is to say his works are,
Four, five, six books, the first on the shelf
Slim, the last fat, written to expiate himself.
But back to that party; Sylvie, the girl
Who'd been smooched, returned
With a grin, Ted presented his cheek,
What happened next was swift and neat:
She obviously would not spare anyone,
Least of all Ted, and took a swift bite
Out of his fleshy face, a pin could have dropped,
Ted lifted his hand saw blood drawn, now what?
Ted left the room in disgrace, headed back to
His dorm, opened the window and unzipped his
Flies; Ted Huge let his warm golden liquid flow
Onto the cobbles two floors below.....
That Sylvie, he mused, when all's said and done,
Isn't really such a bad old ‘un!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem