Hyram & Lowell

Hyram’s aceing a test. Lowell’s testing an ace.
He runs fliers he tries through a three-legged race.
Hyram’s booking the cooks. Lowell’s cooking the books
His report’s deem'd ill- (-egible, -egal) – by crooks!
Hyram’s counting the dogs. Lowell’s dogging the Count.
He tracks vampires and ghouls on his Lipizzan mount.

Hyram’s ducking a plane. Lowell’s planing a duck.

First he peels off its eider, bypassing the chuck.
Hyram ends with a bang. Lowell’s bang’d up the end
of a Volkswagen Beetle he bought off a friend.
Hyram’s flying the coop. Lowell coops up the flies
he extracts from an octogenarian’s eyes.

Hyram’s guarding the eggs. Lowell’s egging the guard

who requested his papers at new Scotland Yard.
Hyram’s holding the line. Lowell’s lining the hold
of his cheese-laden ship, thereby stemming the mould.
Hyram’s inking the press. Lowell’s pressing the ink.
His gall’s wrung from squashed octopi. (Why do you think?)

Hyram’s judging a paste. Lowell’s pasting a judge

with a nickel-filled condom. (He will hold a grudge.)
Hyram’s junking a post. Lowell’s posting his junk.
Look who’s liked him on Facebook! (The man is no monk.)
Hyram’s kneading the bread. Lowell’s breading his knee.
(He dusts elbows with cake crumbs as well. He’s too twee.)

Hyram’s leaving his post. Lowell’s posting his leaves,

fronds he mails to a pen pal for stems he receives.
Hyram’s milking the bees. Lowell’s “being the milk.”
(He admires Stanislavski and folk of that ilk.)
Hyram’s nursing his paw. Lowell’s pawing his nurse.
(Once she’s emptied his bed pan he’ll rifle her purse.)

Hyram orders the plaice. Lowell places an order

for heuvos rancheros at South o’ the Border.
Hyram’s pumping the iron. Lowell’s ironing the pump.
When sufficiently flat, it’s removed to the dump.
Hyram’s queering the deal. Lowell’s dealing the queer
nowt but deuces and treys. (Himself? Aces, I fear.)

Hyram’s running a race. Lowell’s racing the runs.

Will he get to the loo before soiling his buns?
Hyram’s salting a wound. Lowell’s wounding a salt –
jabbing jolly Jack Tar, though ‘twas nowt Jackie’s fault.
Hyram’s tying the knot. Lowell’s knotting the tie
he employs to destroy kittens. (Turn a blind eye!)

Hyram utters a note. Lowell’s noting an udder:

“Your sow’s teat’s too huge!” Lowell’s o’erheard to mutter.
Hyram’s voting for change. Lowell’s changing his vote.
He’s electing the train with a gravy-fill’d boat.
Hyram’s wining his date. Lowell’s dating his wine.

He pretends to pour Dom Perignon ’89.

Hyram x-rays the loo. Lowell loses the x-ray

revealing what dinosaur elbows and necks weigh.
Hyram’s yanking your chain. Lowell’s chaining your Yank.
(As to which state your Yank’s from I’m drawing a blank.)
Hyram zones through a play. Lowell plays through a zone.
(Once his dribble improves, he’ll be fa-a-a-ar better known.)