In Ichibal by Michael Healy
A nonsense poem: everything has a solution __________________________________
In Ichibal there lives a tribe,
Who sit at tables ten feet wide.
So when they come to eat their grub,
And here I must say is the rub,
They need a spoon so very long,
It will not fit around their tongue,
And so in order for them to eat
They have to use their toes and feet
And throw their dishes in the air.
Which must explain why all their hair
Always looks so neat and flat,
Covered as it is in fat!
by Michael Healy