JOSEPH KYTE
by
Cyril Fletcher

A scientist called Joseph Kyte,
Produced a home-made satellite
He also bought from his own pocket
The wherewithal to make a rocket.
He said "I'm fed up with her face,
So I'll shoot me missus into space."
His better half, poor Bertha Kyte,
Was feeling rather tired one night
When, all unknown, her dearest spouse
Brought his Sputnik in the house.
And when his wife dropped off at last
He tied her to it - firm and fast
Then stood the lot against the wall
And set it off... poor wife and all.
With startled look upon her face
She rocketed right into space,
And tho' poor Berth did not absorb it
She hurtled round in perfect orbit
And Joseph Kyte, inclined to swank,
Went to phone up Jodrell Bank.
Authorities expressed delight
At owning their own satellite,
They utilised Bertha's gyrations
For televisual communications,
Olympic pictures from Tokio
Were bounced from Bertha's bokio
Fyfe Robertson in a Tonight
Said "Why are you so fast in flight?"
But Bertha as she hurtled by
Murmured, as she winked an eye,
"You'd travel quickly wouldn't you
With fire and brimstone up your flue!
I'll leave my husband now for good,
And do what I always said I would,
Setting my compass by the stars,
I'll leave the cad and go to Mars."