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This poem was written after spending a couple of hours in the pub (that's how it usually works) whilst the TV series 'Baywatch' was showing on the bar TV. One patron, a very vocal middle-aged sales rep, turned primal every time a bikini-clad female appeared on the screen. This poem was written for the millions of men who react wildly at the sight of mammary glands.


If women had udders
and cows had breasts
what would be shown in The Sun?
Would it be Daisy
the feisty heifer
boasting 98-100-91?

Would it be Sharon
the Croydon belle
With udder attached to her sternum?
She'd have admiring bullocks
throughout the land
though four-teated Sharon'd spurn 'em.

Would Farmer's Monthly
become a jazz mag
top shelf stuff not for sale to the nippers?
Would Playboy become
a livestock guide
a rattling good read for sheep dippers?

This fascination
for lactiferous glands
raises questions I believe worth pursuing.
Who was the first man
to milk a cow
and what did he think he was doing?

Copyright; Stephen Cree 2001
Email: [email protected]
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