... and the swine flew.

Once upon a torturous time,
I lived at a place called IIT—
A stinking sweatshop, called for a dime
The place for you and me to be.

So there I remember an evening new,
When in a filthy tee and threaded jeans,
I strolled in search of the females few,
Unwatched, ignored, invisible, unseen.

My dream was love, young and slim;
My hope a catch, thin and fair;
And just as the dusk grew cold and dim
She turned a corner, my fairy of air.

In wonder I picked my nose afresh
And pulled my knee-bound trousers up;
Why, I thought, in wire and mesh,
Could this become the coffee of my cup?

Idly I sauntered, closer and cleaner,
Eyes and ears and nose engaged;
With every step my belly went leaner
As with breath a battle I bluily raged.

And then I was there, a meter away,
Bathing in her beauty of foreign make;
And it seemed my heart could forever sway
And dance and see and smile and shake.

Excuse me, she said, and I said, oh sure,
And made to give her the narrowest berth;
She squeezed in, I squeezed more,
And then relented in latent mirth.

She had passed and I had turned to stare
At a back and bottom so uncommon,
Only to be shocked to the pulp of my ware
As she turned beneath the westbound sun.

Oh, this dream, and I knew it was not,
For my nose was slick with slime again;
But oh, what else could a female hot
Want to say to a lover so plain?

Whatever, I thought, but want she does,
For here she comes, her eyes on me;
And my own went gaga in a frenzied fuzz
For her lips seemed curved a tiny wee.

And then she was there, an inch from who,
Her smile a pout of a kiss like glue
Plant that she did, and tongued, dear Pooh,
Your snuggles is sick with dead-swine flu.

…

Years have passed since that time
And I no more live at IIT too;
Hell’s my shop, and for chuckles a dime,
I tell them how the hot swine flew.