Poetry Report: The Royal Baby
“it involved a past-date sub sandwich
and too many Dr. Who episodes”
Through a weird twist of fate I had the royal baby this week.
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Where My Million Pounds Came From
The other day, I had the royal baby.
The only thing that Kate Middleton gave birth to
was a note. It read:
Dearest Kate and William,
Good day. Your baby was born
to a man named Scott Poole
living in the Pacific Northwest
of the United States of America,
next to a big tree.
Sorry for the mix-up.
Tootles, God
I don't want to go into the logistics.
Let's say it involved a past-date sub sandwich
and too many Dr. Who episodes.
The Queen’s Special something or other
was calling me before noon.
Relinquish the Royal Baby, Mr. Poole.
Royal Baby? You mean, Dallas? I asked.
You can't name the Royal Baby, Dallas, they said,
His name is to be George.
George. Hmm… For George Washington?
That comment was not appreciated.
This baby is of great cultural importance
and must be given to its rightful
royal parents immediately!
Then how come it came out of me?
First you lose the Colonies, and now
your baby. Don't you think the first man-baby
in history is of greater importance
then Kate and William on the cover of People?
Doesn't this denote some kind of new
royalty on the earth?
You keep your note, I'll keep my baby!
We're prepared to pay a handsome sum...
Where do you cash a Million pounds?
It's so quiet around here.
I miss Dallas.
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