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 Poetry inspired by The Beatles for The Beatles Musical Extravaganza. |
| This one time, at band camp... I was goofin' around with my fellas Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick, and Tich. We were back behind the ramshackle wooden stage, noodlin' and finger-pickin' when the fair ginger flutist strolled past, twirling her instrument like a baton. Discretely checkin' us out, I say. Now, none of us had much luck with the ladies; we became known as "The Lonely Hearts Club". It could have been pity, or a marriage of convenience, spending a couple weeks with the same people in tight quarters, that led her to approach me. To myself I admitted she was adorable, but why would she talk to me? I mean, I'm not ugly or anything, but I'm far from being the best-lookin' guy on the campground. She blew a few notes like seductively eating a banana, and I melted when she paused to ask me if I wanted to let the evening go. We broke away from the group and into the woods, singing along to songs we'd practiced and dancing made-up little jigs. As we moved in for a smooch, stupid ol' Billy Shears from out of nowhere yelled "Ewww! The flute chick is gonna make out with that dirtbag! No way!" When I turned to admonish him she bolted away quick, and began to avoid me ever since. |
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