lordy lord, I am running late
for a most genetically useful date
neither shaven nor washed I am,
with the air of a ham
(and its grace)
I rant with a mouthful of food
and the waiters wince, alas,
and disdainfully wipe their smocks
yet you favor my every word
(and my sword)
in the cattails and thistles
you are the greatest female
between the folds of my fats
and the crumbs from the cash and carry
you look good on my uniform
(which is military)