KEEPING ABREAST OF FASHION

The poem to follow is an example of what can happen to a bloke who commutes a lot on public transport, and has too much time on his hands.


Dear Gurus of fashion, who amongst your rank
Pray tell, do we thank
For bestowing upon us - mere mortal males -
A couture trend currently in vogue
So pleasing to the eye as to pacify a rogue
Blokes like me who like what we see
Breasts on display in all their dignity

It’s in our DNA
Primitive instincts to focus our eyes through blinkers
We are testosterone driven visual thinkers
This basic urge we cannot purge
But surrender to the delight
The variety of watching flesh in flight
Each new attraction a challenging distraction
To stimulate a stream of poetic thoughts
An alliterate list ... ticked off like this:

- Robust and ripe, proud boobies, bursting with personality
- Titillating glimpses of tantalising titties
- Mammoth melons and memories of secure comfort
- An arsenal of broad bazookas with nipples a nudging

... And when the bigger bosoms come towards you
The bounce of each pounce on the pavement
Sends mesmerising ripples of flesh dancing in waves up their chest

Breasts - whether bold or on hold -
Whatever the mold - are beautiful to behold
And, when men are left waiting, and boredom starts grating
They will pass the time, watching and evaluating
And the knack, is to note the rack, and file it in the right stack:

Some are perky and pert, confident and at ease
Others bashful and shy, they please only to tease
Some are small, like little bubbles in separate rooms
Compared to the cleavage of others with voluptuous volumes
Some are a perfect handful, firm, sensual and sensitive
Others - pendulams - free and feisty fun bags to play with
Some are capriciously on display, with the naive confidence of youth
In contrast to the feminine mystique of mature couth

However classified, they never fail to amaze
Bosoms - each a palette of subtle tones we are privileged to gaze
From translucent alabaster to deep ebony
And delicious varient shades in-between
From milky coconut, vanilla, creamy custard, olive and caramel
To occasionally, exotic glimpses of cinnamon and chocolate liqueur
And rare, erotic treats of laced liquorice

... And, to crown this delicatessen of tastey delights
Each bonbon cloaked in a smorgasbord of fashion
Deliberately designed to excite our passion
Breaking our wills with provocative thrills, like nothing else matters
We store these images for future rations
Garments that express their social status:

Tight T-shirts for young flirts to tease wherever they please
Frilly blouses for petite fillies off to the office
Blonde babes in busybody suits, abreast of the rest
Women in uniforms united - marching their way to work
The rest an eclectic selection from suburban sobriety to eccentric access
Filing off to workplaces synonymous to their dress

... And most importantly, we have to thank
The lingerie that makes ‘em all look so swank
Brassieres - bless ‘em - to carefully cup and caress ‘em
With the gift to lift bashfull little packages
Or to contain defiant heavy hooters bursting to shoot us
Others designed to rally udders that spread and keep ‘em in the same shed
But give me the nifty little see through to highlight nipple or two

Now, don’t blame me for this confession or the lingo I use
Look at history - who has always been our greatest muse
Women - the eternal mystery
The spark that lights our creative fuse

...And to give balance to my bawdy verse, it’s not only men who look,
Women too, I’ve been told, when there’s not much to do, like a ‘butchers hook’
And when Hens gather in pens to peck - the talk often turns to Cocks
Along with peckers, pectorals and other personal packages
...But that’s another story, probably better told, by a sassy Sheila
- A spieler more qualified than me

... And finally, I’ve got to put an end to this curse,
of perpetual rhyming verse, and expose the purpose of this prose
And get to the point, before it gets any worse

So, pray tell, just who do I thank, for this prolific, verbose verbal wank!