By Pete Tucker
Having cocktails on the veranda,
Just this last eve.
My wife commenced a twitch,
As though an itch to relieve.
Her motion did not quell the matter.
Thus she wriggled again.
This time with more animation,
As a practiced comedienne.
Needing then to speak of the itch,
Shall we say, in a little patois.
She announced in colorful language
That she had a bug in her bra!
What to do then, but stand straight up?
Clutch the garment as though a sling.
In what appeared a trick of the trade,
A Ladybug she did wring!
Onward then, proceeded cocktail hour
As though nothing had transpired.
The bug flew about its business.
The evening was otherwise inspired!