Les Fleurs De L'Humour Poem by Lum Chabot

A pallid white girl
Emerged with a whirl
Of desire she’d not expected,

But sooner or later,
The drunk tailored waiter
Was it, or she was dejected.

Impoverished and poor,
This half-asleep Moor
Suddenly awoke with a fright,

A kiss on his lips,
Cold hands on his hips,
But all he could say was “Good night.”

***

She jumped from her bed
Threw hat on her head,
And rushed down to the lab,

Chef of great renown,
Dark secret she would not own,
Told no one to blab.

For party a cake
She promised she’d bake,
But soon she realized,


The party was fake,
But a cake she’d still make,
Even though that cake was a lie.