Humour, Just for fun, Motorcycles, Poetry



by the poetry pixies

© 2022

Click the player to hear the audio version (better) or read the words below (second best):


scrambled, fried
baked or frozen
who knows the hell
that will be chosen

those nuts of rick’s
are ever tortured
like worm-infested
apple orchards

he grinds em, cracks em,
tests their mettle
swears they’re in
the worst of fettle

something’s always
awfully wrong
sometimes he even
wears a thong

(now there’s a sight –
believe you me –
enough to make
a blind man flee)

the cursed forecast
plays a role
sunny, rainy
then hot and cold

each condition
carries risk
whether warm
or somewhat brisk

them nuts is tender,
oh yes, my dear
especially at
this time of year

they melt like butter
in the heat
leave yellow puddles
in the street

when it’s cold
they shrink and hide
pack their bag
and move inside

too much water
makes them crinkly
like sharpay skin
that’s old and wrinkly

if it’s humid,
they get all sweaty
and need gofundme’s
at the ready

to buy some light
and airy shorts
for doing
risky moto sports

like popping wheelies
and giving ladies
ballsy scares

the lam says ‘chop em,
lop em off!’
which causes matty b.
to scoff

‘without them
he can’t wheelie, really
ride the roads
or gambol freely’

it’s true, there’s no more
getting it up
when your nuts
are in a cup

male members
start running rife
as chef miyuki
pulls out her knife

the girls just yawn
and say bye bye
‘cause they’ve got
bigger fish to fry

they’re grilling
tasty prairie oysters
while neutered begin
joins a cloister


© 2022 Susan Macaulay. I invite you to share my poetry and posts widely, but please do not reprint, reblog or copy and paste them in their entirety without my permission. Thank you.




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