Emily’s Sister

by Thomas W. Helminski

She’s really plain, not so easy on the eyes,
But my girlfriend’s kid sister has me utterly hypnotized.
Weird-looking, weighs in at around nine or so feet tall;
I want that girl so much: it’s got me climbing up the wall.

Because she’s funky like a monkey in a banana-skin zoot suit;
Wears a boa constrictor’s favorite sneakers—and she’s totally bald, to boot.
Her legs are sexy as a hippo’s, neck’s longer than a giraffe’s;
Wiggles her big old ears like Dumbo, and talks like a hyena laughs.

That’s good enough for me—
Good enough for me—
It’s good enough for me—
She’s Emily’s kid sister.
Emily’s sister.

She’s not from Spain, never been to the moon or Mars;
But she’s still so damn smoking hot, smells as good as a box of cheap cigars.
Almost as entertaining as watching three fresh coats of latex paint dry;
I doubt I’ll ever get her—but I’ll never be happy until I try.

Because she’s doofier than Goofy, the most Donaldest of ducks;
Ten times oozier than Ouzo, and stiffer than a cardboard tux.
Her moods are friskier than whiskey, mind’s much slower than gin fizz;
Wears glasses thicker than molasses, tastes are elitist as Cheez-Whiz.

But that’s good enough for me—
Good enough for me—
That girl is good enough for me—
She’s Emily’s kid sister.
Emily’s sister.

She’s quite insane, and more boring than soft-core porn,
Armed to the bra with je ne sais quoi, but stale as a barrel of Candy Corn.
She marches off to Odd Ville in a Peanut Gallery parade;
And she’s twice as hard to understand as the World Series of Charades.

And she’s really nothing special in a million different ways;
But it’s her toothless smirks and other quirks that keep me in this daze.
So, although I’d hate to pop your blister,
You gotta listen to me, mister.
My little problem’s one hell of a twister:
You see, next week I’m supposed to get married to her sister;
And it’s been days since Emily left me—even though I still ain’t missed her.
So, I turned to her kid sibling, cracked a wicked smile . . .
Then I just up and kissed her!

That’s good enough for me—
Good enough for me—
Anyone can tell it’s good enough for me—
Now, I’ve got Emily’s kid sister.
Emily’s sister.


2 thoughts on “Emily’s Sister”

  1. So funny! A clever and original update, this poem takes the traditional gender construction (gender as object to consume, dispose, and replace) , turns it upside down/inside out, and makes it wacky.

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