This collection of anatomically inaccurate nonesense (about 35 verses) was assembled through a particularly wet holiday weekend not long after I was discharged from hospital. Having to face up to the fact I was not indestructible made me much more aware of the wonderful design and engineering skills nature displayed when creating the human body.
These rhymes have no literary worth and serve only to illustrate how desperately bored one can easily become when confined to a wheelchair. I doubt he collection will ever be published as a whole but I may make it available on my website.
Where would we be without our skin
It always fits whether we're fat or thin
It keeps us dry in any weather
Can be soft as silk or tough as leather
It comes in shades of brown or pink
And dries in the sun which makes me think
The only thing about skin that displeases:
We can't take it off to iron the creases.
Fingers hold your sandwiches
And fingers scratch your head
And fingers pick your nose
When you're lying in your bed
Fingers play piano, trumpet or guitar
And fingers make rude gestures
When you're driving in your car
So don't cut off your fingers
They do useful stuff for you
And you might find your lover
Enjoys your fingers too
But if you let your knife slip
Because you are in a hurry
Fingers are quite tasty
If you cook them in a curry
Men and women have different bits.
that walk around with us all day
Women's bits like to stay out of sight
But men's just get in the way.
Women are neat and well finished off,
Their bits are a pleasure to own.
Men's get tangled in pubes or trouser zips
They're a bit of a disaster zone.
Women don't bother about their bits,
So long as they're clean and smell nice.
But men will treat their equipment like cars.
They're obsessed with performance and size
Women must know all about men's bits
To stimulate, arouse and give pleasure
But few men are fair to their women
And repay them measure for measure
When it comes to the female anatomy,
The elegance of its design
Lets men go through life with the attitude
What's out of sight stays out of mind.
Click here for trance-style-ey version of this poem
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