Day Eighty

A spoffish, hircine pium
Flimped me asking for a Kleenex
As the joskin cleared his nose
With porraceous prepollex.

I irenically obliged
As I have never been a quiddler
He did not seem minacious, though
The pythogenic fiddler.

Susurrus of a jingbang
Rose with badinage belated
And my kippage at their duumvirate
Wished both boys vapulated.

I grabbed them by the oxters
Took my trangam with intent
Screamed β€˜aikona turbary!’
But they did not know what I meant.

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One Response to “Day Eighty”

  1. ishabelle Says:

    ahahahahah!!! i find your poem very entertaining… πŸ™‚ i learned a lot of new words too… hmmm… great job… πŸ™‚

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