The man stood on the weighing machine,
My god, he said, Where are my toes?
He thought how slim he once had been
And sighed Ah, well, that's how it goes!
He stooped and peered to read his weight
Then mused I may be rather stout
But that's a fault I'll tolerate
As long as I can get about.
He lumbered brightly home to lunch,
His size the least of all his cares
But then he met - and here's the crunch -
A large fat lady on the stairs.
They tried to pass by breathing in
And then attempted squeezing through.
He wedged himself beneath her chin
Stuck chest to bust as though with glue.
Now one breathed in and one breathed out,
Their buttons fondly intertwined
Then half way through this wrestling bout
They found it fun and did not mind.
This perfect pair could still be there,
Made for each other, I would guess.
If you would like to go and stare,
A five-spot gets you the address.
Joe Pamanian