(based on suggestions from @pinknantucket, @_camer0n, @timsterne, @marklawrence, @TheEndeavour, @slimejam, @realnixwilliams, @snazzydee)
Don’t want to give the wrong impression
about monarchs. They’re no butterflies.
He’s not a mis-heard lyric and
she’s not an ill-placed homophone.
No one mistakes Groban for Mr Hankie
in the after-dinner set list.
Confirm the banquet menu.
Kipfler or kestrel or King Edward?
Mini Yorkshires or cottage pie?
Anyone who says “Let them eat Kate”
will find themselves with takeway noodles
quicksmart. Zero tolerance pho puns.
The date looms like an oversized tiara.
Important issues like pet names –
Pickle and Honey puff?
Big Willie and Babykins?
Don’t see any votes for Squidgy.
Funny thing, that. Discuss.
Even if I was still fourteen
You wouldn’t see a royal poster
gracing the paint adjacent to
my Take That wall. Mark Owen’s
come-hither tattoo was enough of a
fantasy for this princess, sweetheart.
Today's poem is based on suggestions from eight peeps:
- @pinknantucket: “pickle and honey puff”
- @_camer0n: “Lady Mondegreen and Mrs Malaprop” (apologies to Prince William for making him into a lady)
- @timsterne: “Monarchs!”
- @marklawrence: “kipfler potatoes. And pho.”
- @TheEndeavour: “confirmation, tiaras!”
- @slimejam: “Romance misconstrued. As defecation.”
- @realnixwilliams: “MY POSTER OF TAKE THAT FROM THE CD I HAD WHEN I WAS A TEENAGER, literally the only band poster I had on my wall back then!”
- @snazzydee: “Perhaps ‘come-hither’ could make an appearance”
Obviously I had to make it about the Royal Wedding. Right? No choice. *cough*