The other year, on a short visit
Dad of my spouse asked, ‘ boy, how is it
your mirror shows but one visage,
but I come with an entourage
of personalities to fill
the Mormon church up on the hill.
There is the one who wears the cap
for thinking, he has much on tap,
and the religious man of cloth,
the one who’s simply known as sloth,
a studious fellow, name of nerd,
the monk who doesn’t say a word,
a merchant who has sticky fingers,
the sex fiend always loves and lingers,
so many personalities,
your mirror shows me in ONE piece.’
I told him that we knew all that,
that many pounds of body fat
had changed the image in the glass,
that he should look now at his ass.
And sure enough, he saw the light
(he wasn’t really all that bright) ,
but in the mirror it showed clearly
that it consisted of, well…nearly
six layers of glu-tee-al blubber,
arranged as such like tyre rubber.
So I assured him that this mass,
in common language known as ‘ass’
would represent his talents well.
And if he thought of Wilhelm Tell
who had the same idea to grapple,
we’d get a Washingtonian apple
and place it on the bifurcation,
then in the name of this great nation,
I would, myself, shoot off the arrow,
while he would kneel in the old barrow.
And thus, we had our little fun,
he always trusted this old Hun.
His wife remarked that it was smart
to have him crouch in the old cart,
that way, she mused, that gravity
allowed the jewels to hang free.
She also said that Tell was Swiss
but she would give the game a miss.
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