There once was a woman of beauty so rare,
She could slay a man’s heart with a flick of her hair,
It was said that her shadow had mystical force,
And her scent on the breeze could pull ships from their course.
Impossibly curved like a smooth Alpine road,
Eyes that enticed with cheeky goad,
Her voice like notes from Cupid’s harp,
Chiselled cheekbones, razor sharp.
Voluminous breasts sat up under her chin,
Bristling like spaniels, bikini stretched thin,
She’d burst up from the surf looking tousled and splashed,
While men clambered with towels and motorcars cars crashed.
With wanton abandonment, kittenish face,
She’d dance intricate sambas with hypnotic grace,
Her pert whirring backside, resistant to gravity,
Caused much manly twitching and inner depravity.
Then one day, disaster struck!
So rapt and in awe of her glorious self,
She’d paid little attention to time’s evil elf,
As she glanced in a puddle one showery morn,
The image beamed back pierced her heart like a thorn.
What once was a peacock in awesome display,
Was now tinged with dejection and signs of decay,
Her skin, once akin to a velveteen feather,
Had growing resemblance to crocodile leather.
Sure enough as she took to the warm crowded sands,
She was greeted with silence where once piped brass bands,
Her parts once so perky, were now more like jerky,
The before seething women, now smiley and smirkey,
In panic and fury she turned and took flight,
Melting into the shadows, her best friend the night,
Her deep wounded pride was fed cups of Cachaca,
And she summoned her friend, Dr Rico Mombassa.
The good Dr pledged to add well needed spruce,
To the withering feathers of that sun ripened goose,
Some jut to the butt, and some plump to the mouth,
And some umph to the bits that were venturing south,
He prepped plastic and silicone from top notch suppliers,
Then sharpened his scalpel and oiled up his pliers,
And a couple of days under needle and knife,
Our perma-tanned goddess sprang back into life.
So much love had the surgeon put into his task,
When our lady arose, cast off bandage and mask,
The form she beheld was such utter perfection,
T’was like the good lord himself had performed the correction.
With new found resolve from the bed she leapt down,
And set off for the beach front to reclaim her crown,
Deaf to the Doc as her walk turned to run,
“The healing’s not finished, STAY OUT OF THE SUN!”
In a trice normal order was swiftly restored,
As the passers-by gawped, she reclined like a lord,
Her shiny new lips sipping milk from a coco,
Impossible tits driving beach goers loco.
With the breeze in her hair and a smile on her face,
From the ashes she’d risen and was back in her place,
But wait, there’s a grisly twist to the story,
And our heroine’s fate is about to turn gory.
Dosing happily off as the clock struck one,
In the merciless glare of the Ipaneman sun.
As the mercury rose she lay peaceful and still,
Like beautiful cheese on toast under the grill.
Day turned to evening turned to night.
T’was well after dark and the light of the moon,
Shone down on the beach where a towel was still strewn,
And a curious puddle of warm perfumed goo,
Familiar bikini and sunglasses too…..
And so ends our tale of flesh, blood and honour,
An ode to a legendary fallen Madonna,
Her soul now looks down to the beach from on high,
The sexiest angel in all of the sky.
Aaron Moore Poems 