There was an old man from Kazakhstan
happy to hear of the testing ban.
His house didn’t explode,
but sometimes it glowed.
&
Despite a lead vest he still had a tan.
There was a beautiful woman of Japan
who was never without her folding fan.
She seemed to play coy,
but it was a ploy.
Her saké breath could kill a caveman.
There was a gregarious girl from India
who was bonkers for Bollywood cinema.
With great happenstance,
she’d break out in dance
in classrooms and clinics across India.
There was a young man from Hungary
who always wore his blue dungarees.
In summer they fit;
in winter not a whit.
Kürtőskalács made his rump “rumper-y.”
There was an old man from Guatemala
who had once injured both amygdala.
That blow made him fearless.
On roads he was peerless —
well-poised to drive around Guatemala.
There was a writer from the Czech Republic
who only got a few of his works published.
But for bleak, bureaucratic crimes
he was way ahead of his times —
who knew we’d soon see people wantonly punished?
There was a gardener from Estonia
who was faced with a terrible phobia.
When she heard men hunting,
she’d cry, “Russians are coming,
and they’ll trample all our Begonias!”
There was an old lady from Canada
who was a hockey aficionada.
She couldn’t still skate,
but always shot straight —
firing in place like the Spanish Armada.