by Michael Calvert

It’s very strange, since Lord knows, I am no fan of award shows,
But I thought I’d give the Golden Globes a whirl—
Then I saw a dark-haired hottie, there among the glitterati,
Now I’m in love with Fiji Water Girl.

Her eyes and raven tresses far outshone their fancy dresses
Her Mona Lisa smile was sweet and calm.
No starlet she—no fame—indeed, nobody knew her name—
Mysterious mistress of the photobomb.

How gladly I’d pursue her, fall at her feet and woo her,
And—dare I dream it—we could run away—
To some island out of reach, where upon a tropic beach,
She’d serve me Fiji Water on a tray.

I’d be drunker than on gin with my pretty Gunga Din
To bring me water that would taste like wine—
I’d be happy— no, elated! (not to mention well-hydrated),
If only Fiji Water Girl were mine!