Kerry, Kerry, Kerry, Kerry, Kerry1!
Unto the angel of the church of Ephesus2,
I write: never, by my wings, was firstling cherry
More ripe for a seasoned man; yet she got picked
And fed to our adolescent nerd instead.
A toy manufacturer’s daughter,
She kneaded once flour and water;
As her father then decided to box it,
Entire generations of children
Learned how to use their fingers
Moulding the clay she had concocted;
Perhaps by virtue of this intuitive gift,
She suspected Lud’s phalanxes to be a bit stiff
And kindly lent him her putty to play with.
“God first makes ’em and then brings ’em together,”
As the saying goes; in this case, however,
He certainly didn’t plan they stay there.
I, who am Lud’s angel and can testify
To his every thought, wonder if the Lord
Might not have been even pleased somewhat3
By someone who, as it was he got ditched,
Never left really his first love. Twat
Boots it to deny the hitch? As sure
As time/space is curved, it was Ker
First put some flesh behind the word
And when Lud again fell for a bird
It was on the force of a description
True as if God himself had forged it:
“Just met the most uninhibited
Girl in the world…”, a herald had reported,
“… She eats spaghetti with her hands.”