Hollaback Girl asks for poetry and so shall she have it.

A Half-Assed Homage to Breasts

It's rumored that a champagne glass
was modeled from Marie Antoinette's tit
She must have suffered from lack of cake
Based on the dimensions of it.

And Cleopatra's ample rack
Made poor Mark Anthony gasp
For all the good her wiles did
She ended up with an asp.

And then there's Madame du Pompadour
She regaled Louis of France
They say her allure was all on top
Blessed with cleavage, ah, perchance.

For all the legendary courtesans
And women of some stature
History remembers oh so well
A carriage vividly captured.

Now we live in different times
And our Secret is Victoria
Bosoms are trundled to ones chins
From L.A., Dallas and Peoria

The trusses and the many straps
Needed to rope these babies in
Whether As or Bs or Cs or Ds
Beg one to praise the twins.

Yes, they make jogging tough
And dancing a certain pain
But their lines in a cashmere sweater
Make suffering worth the gain.

The chicanery of bra equipment
Can restore them to their best
But in the naked moments
One still fails the pencil test

With age, alas, the proud decline
with its slope and droops and sags
And then one day you will wake up
Shazam! Your boobs are saddlebags

You wander to Park Avenue
(well. some of us have done)
And ask to tighten up the girls
"Can the years yet be undone?"

Damned HMOs don't cover this
And it's a large outlay of coin
But it's hardly a large price to pay
To have ones breasts adjoined

What good are these odd things
That rest upon our chest?
I know they have some purpose
And I know they have impressed.

But should they have some reason
Outside of nursing one's own child?
Whatever reason there may be,
They oddly, continue to beguile.