Housed in a walking stick
the King stuck a feather duster at the top
fancied his fourth wife and tickled his fifth.

Ten mutton chops later
a gourd of red blood wine
two scoops of brain cutlets
he was feeling better.

With a bowl of imported shrimp in hand
battered and buttered
with chilly powder ,a chilli *****
he was getting excited at the prospect
of knocking his seventh wife
but a flagging spirit ruined his *******
and he commanded the courtyard maidens
to dance like Queen of Sheba
on the High Priests entrails
as the music beat a violent end
to heads rolling in the dusty desert sands.

Done.
He counted the bowed heads
and picked the odd number out
to even his court ****.

The cradle of all creation was found ten yards
away in fossilised rock after five years of
guessing it must be around here.

Author Notes
Parody of procreation.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.