Each of my poems here is based on a corny old joke that, in its original form, was fewer than 20 words long. In an effort to lose as many readers as possible, I rewrote each into a full Shakespearean sonnet.
Why Dogs Can’t Dance
Perhaps you’ve wondered, as have I, my son —
Why dogs, tho’ lithe and nimble at first glance,
Tho’ fleet and sleek and graceful when they run
And yet, when tasked to do so, cannot dance?
It’s quite a strange conundrum, my dear boy:
A noble beast (in most ways lacking faults)
With zest for life and ever filled with joy,
And still, inept when asked to dance a waltz!
What deficit of theirs impedes this skill?
What might we have that dogs, alas, have not?
— Or maybe it is what we lack that will
Explain why dogs can’t master the gavotte?
I think, my son, I’ve found an answer sweet:
All dogs, you see, are curs’d with two left feet.
The Talking Brassiere
Not long ago there was a talking bra
Who did not speak with any other clothes
For most of them lacked ears (and also jaw)
And so in the main, ’twas silence the bra chose.
One day, it’s said, the bra discovered that
There was a closet filled with garments sleek
And one of them, a fine and shiny hat
With ears to hear what words the bra might speak!
The bra attempted to some words compose
She wished to say things smart and wise and clear
Alas, she knew but what a garment knows
Which limited her lines a bit, I fear.
So in the end, just this was what she said:
“I’ll give these two a lift, while you go on a head.”
How Many Freudians ...?
A group of men who follow Sigmund Freud
Engaged were they in long and fierce debate
Upon an issue odd, their brains employed
To solve a problem of no minor weight.
In plotting out a task they could foresee
— the sort we all must do, and no one dreads —
How many of their group would need there be
To screw a light bulb in above their heads?
They pondered this a while, with to and fro
Till in the end they all would quite agree
The number that was needed, they did know
Wasn’t one, or two, but clearly three:
“Just one to hold the bulb, but, no small matter —
Two more to hold the penis … we mean, ladder.”
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