I was walking down the lane last week
And spied upon the ground
A banana skin just lying there
Which I failed to go around.

I was mesmerised and couldn’t stop
From treading on the skin
And proved that tales ‘bout slipping
Are true, to my chagrin.

I tumbled over and fell in the ditch
Looking like a pin-up,
My kilt was gathered at my waist
My bottom pointing a*** up.

Some ramblers who were passing by
Then glanced in my direction,
Murmuring about the need for
Natural selection.

They wandered off and left me there
My head stuck in the mud,
Eventually though I struggled free
And crashed down with a thud.

I brushed my kilt off, wandered home,
Feeling quietly perky.
Then recalled they also said
“That looked like a plucked turkey.”