Bad Magician

A Poem

Bad Magician

I pull a rabbit out my beaver hat,
Then shove him back and disappear the hare.
Next, call over my girl—cut her in half,
But take the time to stoop and sniff her hair.
Before I had but one attractive lady,
Where now the pair have I so richly got,
One head to roast my hare, one hind for gravy,
If only I could get this bleeding stopped.
Two girls are double pain to clear the stage,
Though multiplied in parts, she’s useful half,
So very lazy in the saw-box laid,
I drag her off stage by her clammy calves.
    What can I say? That I’m a bad magician,
    Who’s rotten at love but great at division.

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