Saturday, August 14, 2010

A pat-down poem

There once was a woman
Who stood in the queue.
She needed a pat down,
She bypassed the walk-through.

Along with the woman
Were bags full of stuff,
That needed some testing,
'Cause it was holistic and she didn't want it put through the x-ray. GAH!!

Sorry.

The woman was nice,
a little peculiar.
She had an aroma
That wafted around her.

What was that smell?
It wasn't that bad
But my nose kept telling me
BREATHE THROUGH YOUR MOUTH.

Spice...yes spice!
I figured it out.
Cloves was the smell,
There wasn't a doubt.

I started to pat her,
she chatted away;
When I got to the front
I was a little afraid.

Where were her boobs?
They should be right there!
Her chest was so flat
She could have gone bare.

I quite nearly panicked,
'cause soon enough
I'd be using my hand
to pat down her *stuff.*

I began to explain
That I needed to swipe,
Beneath her breast
And what it would look like.

As I performed the pat down
On my own shapely boob,
I nearly recoiled
At what she started to do.

Her own two hands
Reached down to her waist;
And grabbed two tits
That were nestled in place.
On her waist.
ON. HER. WAIST.

She grabbed them I tell you,
And lifted them up;
(mind you she grabbed them over her shirt thank GOD)
She was being so helpful,
But still... what the FUCK!

Pardon my language,
Don't mean to offend;
But this part of my job
Sucks.

The End.

2 comments:

Kiessa said...

Waaay funny! Thanks for entertaining! It's always a hoot to hear about your adventures at the airport!

Western Warmth said...

Oh my gosh, that poem was hilarious!