NO THANKS

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NO THANKS

If I left you now, what would you miss?
Grumpy mornings, silent evenings
And taken-for-granted pause between the emptiness;
And hidden behind the tall tales, adultery;
Mental maybe, but real nevertheless

You dazed me in the park one Sunday’s summer afternoon.
Your smile was electric.
Later, you hid your patience well
When freedom was dragged from under my feet.
You ticked of the (waiting) time
And I repaid you with monologues of deceit

There are those more deserving of your kindness;
Less selfish, less angry,
And less possessed of my bloody-mindedness.
You bore your cross to the edge and beyond.
Always hauling me back to the fold.
Snatches of love were your only compensation,
Were I a better man I would cloak you in gold

BERTHA – BIG GIRL’S BLOUSE

2048
Hey Bertha, you big girl’s blouse, we have been hearing all week about how you’re coming to blow all our houses down, so where’s all your puff? I’ve heard more wind after a feed in the local curry house, and as for rain, well it’s hardly damped down the summer dust. Mind you, the build-up has come mainly from the BBC crap weather service who couldn’t forecast the result of todays charity shield match tomorrow. Here I was, looking for a halfway decent gale that might uproot a few trees and smash a few bus-shelters, as well as enlarge a few potholes, but no, nothing is happening again.
Ah Bertha, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling!