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Pink Polyester

She went to Palma to pick

winter woolies and thermal nics

the rain boomed

the Cathedral loomed

A soddened frock squelched into Corte Ingles

Help me I'm drowning!

It barked across the floor

Arms flailing, water flying, help me Senor!

It rushed from counter to counter

Ingles, ingles! it floundered

A hit and run machine gun gone wild

anyone hablas ingles? it riled

The spotless supervisor appeared

swept Mop to the British colonial gear.

She ohhed and aghed at the sheared delights

tarten, twead and tattersall tights!

Mops' nimble little fingers devoured

as the clock sped around the hour

the tanoe echoed 'closing in 10'.

Panic hit the Frock again

it fainted on the isle of polyester, the finest pink garments from Leicester

Swaddled head to toe

in a synethetic pink glow

Mop was greeted at the revolving door

by a seering heat and sun that soared

As it passed the Cathedral

voices whispered from the steeple

'beware of BBQs and campfires Mop

or you'll meet your just deserts, in one big pop!'


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