Nineteen seventy six,
You in your mind this year should fix,
For then in Regents Park,
A man and woman were having a lark,
In a Porche sports car,
Too small by far.
Fate that day did pick,
The man his back should rick,
And every move such agony,
There was of cries a symphony,
While underneath the woman trapped,
Was sorely handicapped.
So police, fire brigade and ambulance,
Did on the scene advance,
But it to all was plain,
The man in so much pain,
They could him not move,
Nor him from the Porche remove.
But to their aid,
Came forth the fire brigade,
Who felt they off the roof should take,
As this all would better make.
So with equipment to the fore,
They first cut off the Porche's door.
Then though the car was highly priced,
Through roof supports they sliced,
And then to pain it was a gift,
When they off the roof did lift,
As from this porche so new,
They could at last the man rescue.
Then knowing well their trade,
Medics to the man gave aid,
After which to safety they carried,
This half-dressed man by pain so harried.
Though then they did discover,
He quickly did recover.
So they told the woman that though his pain was hell,
Her man at last was well,
But she in anguish did declare,
She really didn't care,
For the Porche, her husband's pride and joy,
She knew not what story to employ.
----January 7, 2007---