The woman swam for her son —
shawl, nasal wail and a howl for
the man with the anvil jowls
to no avail:
vanilla ash and
he was a no-show.
The son, in a hail of vain wish —
small, slim snow
from liminal to vanish:
mail on the null-sail.
The countdown had stalled at 'T' minus 69 seconds when Desiree, the first
female ape to go up in space, winked at me slyly and pouted her thick,
rubbery lips unmistakably -- the first of many such advances during what
would prove to be the longest, and most memorable, space voyage of my
-- Winning sentence, 1985 Bulwer-Lytton bad fiction contest.
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