His doctor of feminine gender
May offer a manner quite tender.
But why, he did muse,
Would she purposely choose
A field that is fraught with rear-enders.
—James Carpenter, Miami, Florida
Congratulations to James Carpenter! For his poem describing The Saturday Evening Post cover illustration by Roberto Parada, James wins $100—and our gratitude for a job well done.
If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our upcoming issue, you can submit your limerick via the entry form here.
Of course, James’ limerick wasn’t the only one we liked! Here are some of our favorite runners-up, in no particular order:
I’m going to convince my mind
That her diploma is properly signed.
‘Til then, if you please,
I’m keeping the breeze
From blowing across my behind.
—Marlene Klopp, Iowa City, Iowa
When seeing a doc or a nurse
For a shot or perhaps something worse,
First tend to essentials
And check their credentials.
Or you might end up in a hearse.
—Cornelius R. Jonker, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Our man George had a bit of a frown,
As he stood in his barely closed gown,
He checked the diploma,
Of young Doctor Roma,
He surely did miss old Doc Brown.
—Randy Imwalle, Hilliard, Ohio
A fine time for me to take stock
As to whether I picked the right doc
Now that she’s about
To check inside and out.
I hope I’m not in for a shock.
—Billy N. Davis, Milton, Florida
There once was a man called Bill
Had a doctor in old Melville.
But she was a fake
And sly as a snake,
She’d bought her “degree” from Goodwill.
—Tesa Aguilar, Tampa, Florida
There once was a company exec,
Who went for his annual check.
The procedure he got
In a sensitive spot
Was unlike a pain in the neck.
—Edward F. Haas, Rolla, Missouri
He thinks his exam should entail
A doctor whose gender is male.
The degree that he’s eyed
Shows Doc’s certified
To handle the rest of his … tale.
—Merlene R. Hill, Downey, California
He thinks that the doctor’s too young,
And can’t wait ‘til this torture’s all done.
Her knowledge is great,
But this medical date
Makes him just want to turn quick and run.
—Ruth Porter, Albany, Oregon
His pants weren’t just down; they were off
When he heard, “Please bend over and cough.”
He inquired, “For a shot?”
She replied, “No it’s not.”
He felt trapped like a bug in a trough.
—Ben Lightfoot, Hanston, Kansas