If priority meant love, this date’s an impatient, passionless affair clearly undesired by Dolly, delighted, pointing down nor fixed smiley Svelte, a dab of Chanel, arm also extended, instead we have Tasha, (hint of hairy) with Chubby, (not so cheery) at the rear, “the back side crew” so sharply defined, no reclining with ease, perusing the papers, but, in place, wedged by the window view of the rain, tray with a wobble, maybe, like me, a little unhinged
Tight squeeze, bee’s knees to steerage passes “content”, “at ease”, “ready to snooze” to mum on her knees pushing bits into gaps between the seats, mine as her child, bored, tests the extent of his legs, my patience on the back of my seat until I growl, a response I regret as all around begin to stare
Attention diverts as we limp off the ground watching little and large in their safety dance my mind drifts across the unlikely couple, her too much beard for this career? him, perhaps demoted, an indiscretion, caught short on a long haul? our eyes meet, I’m better asleep.
The problem is, even though I care, each word of what you say, your art of crafting sense of syllables, every one adored deeply, and I admire, as do we all
I have this thought, a clever play tip of my tongue, it’s just arrived, it’s here, right there, a couplet might disappear, fade away so interject I must, apologies, without delay
Believe me, when I declare, fully I understand, more than slightly rude an interjection, but this speech, poetic prose, inside my head these lines of life, may instead
Of articulation, subtle innuendo abrupt, stature deflation, I’ll be the clown smiling wide, yet aware inside how sad, all for a line, what should have been, a perfect interlude, the look-at-me
An example of my repartee, then, will forever be forgotten, abandoned badinage, so I’m sorry, but not too much, I’ve a reason to be curt, so dear poets… damn, it’s gone, and no one heard
As if ordering her lunch, “Tuesday, eight would be grand” address in lipstick on the back of me hand, had a fling with nonchalant but where not to stare, not back at those eyes, inviting as she played with her hair
Not too tall, with the curves just right for a meal for two, and then replied “I’ll think of something….” with the something, hanging, with a laugh, a look, knowing dessert could be mine, if followed her course said the right things a little, at the right time
It’s always the same, I’ve been told talk’s for the hands, not the mouth, but; so much in common, she was Cork too, well knew how it felt, from a small town so felt perhaps, true soulmate and more to be gained delve a little deeper, ask maybe listen for a change,
As we sat on the floor, laughing, having the craic, and her arm snaked round I thought of a kiss, but bottled, instead, calls a cab, I know looking back, you’d say it was the wrong thing to do, but at the time, didn’t want me fumbling messing, spoiling the mood
The following day, and it’s all over literally all over, her mates, me mates, strangers, the whole bar knows she’s given me the shoulder scurried out, a virgin? like a scared little rabbit I think was the gist of how she described it
About a year it took, before the ‘rabbit’ hops out again, to that mysterious world of girls and their games and the next time it was offered let’s just say, a lot less uncertain the right strokes, and how to play
So ‘as Larry, the following night as I enters the bar, acting all coy, me riding a stool, trying to get her eye, but already moved on, found a new toy, now, I’ve no complaints, it was fun being used and abused, but know now I’m just the starter, appetiser, until the real meal shows.
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You need to move on, she needs to realise, tomorrow’s a new day, plenty of crabs on the beach, this one’s scuttling away
Start searching, not thinking what might have been but of course, wouldn’t listen, tried to lighten the mood after doing the deed
A waste of time, complete, who wants a better rejection? so doomed to failure, but stupidity persists, like a child’s unending question…
Tennis for two, seemed such a sensible choice, civilised sport, showing lovers can be friends, but truth a different shade to intention
Tennis, solo, a last resort to save the day, badly thought, because for two, the net is a barrier between you and stupidity,
On your own, it’s an obstacle, to catch unawares, all going well until, as flying across, catching my shot , caught by my toes
Landing flat on my pouch, pain, like you wouldn’t believe left my lungs, as if someone else in an airless scream, not the look was wanting, not faintly amusing…
But the strangest thing, as if slipped back in time, the girl now a beauty, laughing, without a care, and, as my pain prolonged so, seemingly, did her joy
So the moral maths, dear chaps, plain to see, don’t try to placate don’t try to ease the pain of rejection should be what it is
A girl has to realise, a man’s world first, suffer their pain for days, weeks, months, even years better that, than an ice pack On a wounded pride
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When I said you weren’t that handsome you turned away, almost cried but my darling, what I meant was yours is beauty, deep inside
When you overhead me saying I couldn’t be seeing my days with you it’s only because I’ve always thought you’re too good, too honest, too true
And I know the way it looked, with Liam upstairs, the other night but my love, he hadn’t a stitch to wear after a barney with his wife
Know it don’t explain, fully my lack of clothes, and state of dress but I’d only just come out the bath when he knocked the door all stressed
And throwing him out the window was maybe, baby, a step too far you’ll be grateful he’ll recover but sadly, on landing, trashed his car
Thank goodness, pressing charges is the last thing on his mind but his car will cost a pretty penny, perhaps, could you phone ahead next time?
You’re the one and only, the man for me and when I said I loved you, that’s not wrong so please, my sweet, unlock the door Been inside this fridge too friggin’ long….
You want me to parade my thoughts before you naked, against your skin to caress your ears with assonance, syllables, lingering on the tip of my tongue sibilance, as shifts, slowly, sliding down stroking the nape of your neck, aroused, the alliteration all pricked, prepared, but not too long before the verb, unsubtle, crashes in, impatient, perhaps an expletive, well placed, pushed on my knees, your nouns before me, slow at first, then thrusting forwards, with intent, but wait, slow the pace say two more, frisson and excitement, hand in hand, waiting with febrile adjectives to mop your brow as onomatopoeia, moans and aahs, a pause, a pant, a grunt or two unladylike, then tissues to wipe, as made excuses, and quick exit.
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Tammy was no twiglet And Patricia, pretty plump Rotund, Rebecca’s nickname Harsh, but true, she was a lump
Every Tuesday they would meet At Debbie’s Donuts, for a chat perhaps a Cappuccino With a healthy little snack
One day ‘two ton’ Terry Nearly true, but also cruel Chomping Debbie’s bargain butty Eyed this small but weighty crew
Announced himself, with a belch His humour knew no bounds handed each, a simple card “Magic Diets” could be found
‘Reduction by Seduction” Was the one that caught the eye As Terry quickly pointed out “’Twas one to one, that diet”
Patricia’s hand was first to raise The teeny tiny flaw Why, if magic diets worked so well, did Terry’s weight not fall?
“The point you raise is true of course None such has worked for me These plans are just for ladies Not a man, like I, you see?”
Tammy, brave, was first to try And followed Terry back A little gap between the terrace Almost hid the simple shack
They squeezed in both, just through the door And settled down to Tea Then later on the bed they sat His hand upon her knee,
His chant, eyes closed, “O God of Lard I ask, look on my lover And as we bounce upon this bed Please remove her blubber “
Eight hours had passed, and all was quiet Apart from Terry’s snores When Tammy woke, a skinny lass With sweat from every pore
From Terry’s doze, the question clear My dear, how can this be? “While you’re a little dove, my love I’ve gained a stone or three
The fat you lose, it seems to go on me, I know not why A kind of magic spell I sell That only femmes can buy”
Terry’s fame grew quickly As did his mighty frame His doctor said “you’ve got to stop” But still he loved again
At fifty stone, was trapped “in house “ Our curvy Casanova, Still the belles, would waddle in And trade to trot out thinner
As all good things, it had to end One day and sad to say The biggest heart had too much fun And gave out as he lay
Because deceased was twice most men His corpse became a curse No coffin fit, so custom built A lowly truck the hearse
They tried to dig the grave with men But as this grave got bigger ‘twas clear mere spades would take too long So had to fetch the digger
His funeral was a sad affair Though feast for flower sellers The mourners, girls all very slim beneath their black umbrellas
The weeping women watched and wailed As lowered down his chest No men could lift this mighty box So’d hired a crane instead
Halfway through, the rope was frayed Gave a sigh and snapped The coffin wedged, his feet stuck out The vicar screamed as trapped
The little digger saved the day On caterpillar tracks Put body back and chained the chest With cables now attached
As people tried to say their piece, Machines were much too loud And all they got was bits and bobs As winched him to the ground
The vicar said a few more words, His arm all in a sling And finally, a little late They got poor Terry in
The moral of the story, Eat! Drink lots and don’t be slimming, Not the digest does the damage Just don’t date with dieting women
If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!
Paul Horne 