There are heartless types abroad, are they not,


those suffering from suburban frigidity


I have overheard, discernible murmurs,


that I tell unbearable gags to visitors,


that I wear a primeval toga on orgy nights,


plus a floral toupee, as befits an overdone puff,


that my wife is a mummified nincompoop who wears an insane sari


and is guilty of unladylike misconduct,


that I have sired an enigmatic urchin,


always reaching for the posteriors of his own parents...


Forgive me, am having a groggy turn


These are mere rumours


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