A telegraph for help
The doctor was eating his roast;
The telegraph came with the post.
He swore and said: “Screw!”
Opened to read, ready to drop:
“Mother in law at death’s door. Stop.
Can you pull her through?”
Discretion and fashion
After the op the girl asked
The surgeon, as he unmasked:
“Will anyone see my scar?”
“Erm”, - replied the registrar -
“Depends on your discretion
And the demands of fashion.”
“Doctor what are my chances to survive?”
“Very good, indeed excellent, I’d say.
Your good chances from statistics derive
And that is definitely going your way.
One out of every ten will stay alive,
When this disease all through the body spread;
You’re the tenth I’ve seen, nine went in nose-dive
And every one of them are truly dead.”
“I’d rather have a baby than this…”
The young woman to the dentist said.
“I’m willing to help you with that Miss,
I’ll tip this chair to make it a bed”…
© P. J. Oszmann (2000-2002)
©Illustration: Created in Publisher and Photoshop.