BAD RECEPTION

You sit in reception
A vacuous bimbo
Reading your mag
And thinking of bingo

You read your magazine
Quite empty headed
Smiling at men
Who’d have you bedded

If you could read our minds
What images you’d see
Vividly depicted scenes
Of lust and debauchery

You would be employed
For a very different job
With balls on your chin
And a nob in your gob

The men in the pinstripe
Would have you promoted
If you allowed yourself
To be spit roasted

The delivery driver with
“a package for yer”
Would like to bend you over
The photo copier

Even the women
Of the other persuasion
View you in their fantasies
Being used for perversions

As for myself you would see
Your bountiful naked bod
Breathless and panting
Riding my rod

It’s safer if you remain
A vacuous bimbo
Reading your mag
And thinking of bingo


This poem was inspired by a particularly unhelpful, vacuous and obnoxious receptionist in Sheffield whose complete disinterest in anything but her magazine led me to compose this ode, fuelled merely by spite and malice.
I would like to apologize in advance to the large body of very efficient, helpful and largely sexually unattractive receptionists up and down the country.