Ode to the pasty-legged

Pasty legs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From the depths of winter darkness arise,

A shivery silhouette of chalk-white thighs.

Boldly defying the prismatic laws of light,

The embarrassment of public exposure they’ll fight.

Little children will run for a secure and safe place,

But adults can’t hide the shock on their face.

The ‘Ginger’ appears in shorts to the sun,

Sickening folks and ruining their fun.

The ghost-like gleam seems opaque to the eye,

While the mid-day sun reflects to the sky.

Slathered in cream, SPF 60,

They wander around all footloose and free.

With no pigment or sense of self aware,

The surface of skin they should beware.

In about 5 minutes they’ll regretfully learn,

The thin epidermis will rapidly burn.

Over-exposed and turning all red,

The pasty-legged will retreat to their bed.

Coating the crimson coloured pores with aloe,

The legs I’m sure will be pink and aglow.

This is the plight of us fair-skinned folks,

As summer approaches, like a terrible hoax.

We worship the sun high and ablaze,

Why we don’t explode, I’m still amazed.

Sunglasses are needed to block all the glare,

So goes the summer of us, the fare.

Pity the Ginger and light-skinned you see,

Since this poem is all about me.

 

 

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