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At a circus in the south of France
Where muscled men wear Lycra pants
The act that walks the high tight rope
Is Roger the African antelope.
Up in the air he prances along
In his metallic colored circus thong
Juggling fruit and maintaining his balance
Displaying his unique set of talents
The fruit that Roger juggles most
Are the hard yet fuzzy cantaloupes
Indeed these melons are his true love
And one can see it as he saunters above
He’s never dropped one fruit from on high
It’s almost romantic enough to cry
But antelopes can’t elope with cantaloupes
At least not according to the Pope
So he loved his melons in singleness
Until along came a bearded temptress.
Shelly was Swedish; from a mountain town
A descendant of hairy gypsy clowns
Her hair was blond and her skin was fair
And soft, where not covered in hair.
France may be full of hairy women
But Roger had never paid attention
Shelly was different and downright delightful
As she clowned about on her unicycle.
She went on stage with the Lycra men
As they groped each other she would spin
One day while performing in the center ring
He saw Shelly backstage practicing.
Suddenly all of his Cantaloupes fell
Was this diva from the depths of hell,
Sent to separate mammal and melon?
It seemed his heart was in complete rebellion
Roger was torn. Whom did he love more?
Was it Shelly or Cantaloupes that he adored?
He’d always been true to the love in his life
Not once contemplating a non-cantaloupe wife
As the fruit flesh laid naked in a pulpy mass
Roger fell off the wire on his thong wearing ass
The bearded girl came, fiercely pedaling
On her unicycle to the frightening scene
Roger looked up at the Swedish clown
Her eyes glittered as she gazed down
Her Nordic voice echoed in his African ear
What she was whispering wasn’t quite clear
The circus crowd had completely quieted.
The wind blew through her beard as she softly alighted
Shelly bent down toward his antelope face
And offered a mournful Swedish embrace
There before God and muscled men in mid-grope
She too declared her love for cantaloupe
Hearing her deepest fruit adoration
Healed all of Rogers painful sensations
He now knew how to solve his deepest love problem
He had to do something before life could stop him
Right there at the circus he bent down on two knees
Asking “Will you marry an antelope . . . please?”
She kissed him in that magical setting
And agreed to a cross species fruit-centric wedding
The crowd erupted with cantaloupe pride
The two lovers kissed and the muscled men cried
Because they were both willing to take a chance
They lived happily ever after in the south of France.
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