Here is a sonnet I wrote with Under Scrutiny and No Neck in January. It has nothing to do with the recent Bernard Matthews Turkey Cull.
The Decline of British Farming
Why have you not by Friday morn forgot
Our secret sexy meeting in the barn?
It is with titillation that the horse
Recounts our tangled union to the farm
Of what the donkey brays I cannot say
Though braying he has blocked our tender way
Through beating he will beat a hasty path
Retreating, braying, cursing spitting wrath
The neighbour heard the braying in the bath
Which gave to goose he bathed with room to laugh
With soapy feathers sticking to his skin
He naked ran to silence donkey’s din
And thus the whole farm on this Friday morn
Was naked, angry, horny and forlorn
Hey but the original dudes weren’t naked, angry, horny and folorn were they?
They ‘made it’ in the barn.
And the horse was aroused by proxy.
It is only the donkey who was put out, and the neighbour.
The goose also loved it. And the neighbour was a goose pervert anyway. The donkey may have been misunderstood.
I reckon the event was a success.
Congratulations barnfuckers! I have never had relations in a barn.
Oh! The donkey disturbed them I SEE.
I am stupid, and things are never straightforward.