I phoned for an MP
A former bosom friend
His secretary asked
In connection with what?

It punctured my ego,
I felt my manhood shrinking.

I said,
Give him my message
Tell him that poisonous mushrooms
Sprout under rotten logs.
If he asks for my name
Say it was an angered poet
If you can do that for me
I'll be OK.

But she was quick to add,
She said,
Lizards don't fly for their food
They crawl.