Trident Detested
I look from left to right,
my new knee properly knobbled.
No Trident beside me:
this is no time for forking out.
A giant leek protrudes
from the dark, dark side
of my puzzling skull.
I'm about to catch
the deputy sherrif's medal.
There's light at the end
of the cool boomerang
hovering over my head.
Nude Britannia. My mons
pubis is as smooth as a coot.