CRIME SHEEN.

As sweaty as a fat man’s arse in a sauna,
Whose flora and fauna
Have over grown
And collected themselves some old moisture,
Whose poise and posture
Are unknown
Whilst producing the correct kind of mixture,
Whose force and fixture
Are reward
For the time taken to cling to a backside,
Whose hair and rawhide
Were ignored.

As pressing as a well proportioned plane seat,
Whose guile and deceit
Kept it empty
Whilst everyone in the world has researchers,
Whose point is to purchase
An entry,
Into which they can fit their own features,
Whose carriage and creases
Are spreading,
And are long overdue for the surgeon,
Who is hungry and urgent
And threading.

As bloated as a cadaver in a dry patch,
Whose home and away match
Has finished,
Though not forgotten by all the concerned,
Whose rate of return
Has diminished,
And have been forced to surrender their seats,
Whose esteem in the heat
Has been bought
By a large un-agreeable husband,
Whose salty old hands
Got him caught.