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.