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Tart Addiction
“Zesty, piquant, rich at heart”
describes his favorite sort of tart.
Tender to the touch and bite,
a bit of crust and formed just right.
He likes one after every meal,
his appetite to seek to seal.
A zesty wench presents the tray
as soon as the meal’s cleared away.
A tart a night may meet his lips,
yet not one goes upon his hips,
for no cream or cherry pie
is what tempts his tongue and eye.
His tarts come without calories:
Veronicas and Valeries.
In two weeks, he has had a dozen—
the serving girl, and then her cousin.
Which tart tonight will he prefer?
Will it be custard, fruit, or her?
The sort he likes is just the latter,
his tarts cannot fit on a platter.
The prompt word today was “Tart.”
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
You brought these different tarts together beautifully.
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Thanks, April.
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The poem is good, but someone should “beat that knave full sore.” :0
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He’d probably enjoy it if it was a tart doing so.
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In Britain. a “tart”, is slang for woman with low moral values. Just saying …! Cheers Jamie.
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I know, Jamie. That’s the point of the whole poem.
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O-o-o-h-h-h? {starting mid-range going u,p then down the scale} I thought I was weird, reading into it the double entendre’s. Thanks Remi, Cheers Jamie
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