Charles L. Weatherford
THE GREAT RACE
A beanpole and a tub o’ lard decided to race,
their weights to change at a reasonable pace.
A Euro was bet by these high-risk stakers,
for he who reached ninety kilos first would be the in-taker.
The race started slowly with no progress at first.
The beanpole gained, while the tub gained for the worst.
The doctor’s appraised Beanpole, and said he must gain,
so on steroids they put him to clear Callista Flockheart’s name.
Old Fatty was starting to change his wicked ways,
exercising, and eating better and better with each day.
He firmed up a bit, and his butt disappeared,
along with two-and-a-half kilos into thin air.
Young Beanpole was up to a high of sixty
when his doctors came in with gadgets so nifty.
They gave him more tests than you can shake a stick at;
his weight dropped to fifty making him thinner than a bat.
So that’s where it stands at the time of this rhyme.
The fatty is ahead by losing his behind.
And that beanpole had best to eat his nosh,
or he’ll soon be losing that Euro, by gosh!
©Copyright 2002 by Charles L. Weatherford