So-Called Underwear Poem by Raymond Farrell

I looked down
Onto the second floor roof
Where the clotheslines are
And one line
Was completely full
Of brightly colored
Triangular-shaped bits of cloth
Held together
By glorified pieces of string
I asked a passing
Woman I knew
What do you call
Those bits of cloth
Dancing like multi-colored marionettes
In the breeze
They're thongs she replied
A kind of underwear
I thought
If this evolution
In female undergarments continues
In twenty years
Victoria Secrets will be bankrupt
And women in general
Will be wearing
Nothing at all
My further musings
On the matter
Led me to contemplate
What needs to be done
To fit into this
So-called underwear
Without looking unkept
I concluded
Before investing in a thong
It would be wise
If all ladies
Attended a course in horticulture
Given all the
Clipping
Pruning
Snipping
And mowing
Required to wear a thong
And look presentable
Or perhaps
It would be easier
Just to go all out
And engage
In a wanton act
Of deforestation.