Grimbeau

Petrarch brushes it off as a crime against girl power
Usurpation cry seemly boudoirs
Tomatos grow on antler vines,
soaps declaim post breakfeast songs,
loud grunts and bellows signal gripe,
can you hear me calling Lysistrata?
Fancy a bit of How’s Yer Father?
What? Still in short trousers, Boris?
Frankie goes to Holyrood pipes up
Two tribes tops the cuddly pup
—Either he or the wallpaper must go
Says an Eskimo to Mr Penguin
as Chelsea Flower Show gives in to
Friday afternoon monsoon

My computer is corrupt!
Binary alliteration kills my flabby mind—
threw away the queen in the middle of a fugue—
finished up the leftovers (left her half for old times’ sake)—
otherwise the dog gets it—no pressure there then—
unintended consequences are pro bono publicum—
see that one with bells on?
Take it off above the knee!
Pray me what’s afoot?
About half a litre last I looked