After Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun
My lover boy is nothing like a ten,
More like a two (I’m being generous).
He’s got a face like Jerry crossed with Ben,
His feet are rank, his farts are perilous.
His eyes are bad; he cannot see a thing,
And often goes out with his fly undone.
His knobbly knees look just like knots in string,
And where there once was hair, there now is none.
The only six-packs near his abdomen
Are those he drinks to make his belly fat.
I’m also pretty sure most normal men
Don’t bite and chew their toenails quite like that.
And yet I find him sexier by far
Than any footballer or movie star.
(c) Helen Lewis 2008