Divorce is…
Cathartic, purification
Therapeutically purgative
Like colonic irrigation
Tuesday, 11 May 2021
TUNNEL OF SELF LOVE
When a narcissist’s riding of
The
tunnel of love is planned
He’ll
want to sit alone in a car
So,
he can hold his own hand
BASILDON BIMBETTE
Bimbette had to fill out a form
A
task she found hard to perform
Finally,
she only had one box to go
Where
it said “sign here” she wrote Leo
FOREIGN POLICY
Why is it when I live in England
And
I rarely drive very far
A
bomb goes off in Bagdad
The
insurance goes up on my car
WHAT A WASTE
Why in this modern world of computerisation
After thousands of years of advanced civilization
We haven’t shown any significant improvement
In the effective disposal of human excrement
LET THE TRAIN TAKE THE STRAIN
Railway staff are unhelpful
Generally
Stations
are cold and dirty
Typically
At
my local station
In
Farncombe
When
it’s unattended
They
lock the waiting room
When
it is open
And
it’s a winter’s day
The
fire switches off
After
a ten second time delay
Trains
are late
Or
worse don’t come at all
Leaves
on the track
The
wrong kind of snowfall
All
these things
Drive
commuters mad
Even
the plagues of Egypt
Weren’t
so bad
A STRANGER IN A STRANGE TOWN
I walk down unfamiliar streets
Exploring,
searching
I
came upon a market square
Full
of hubbub
Stall
holders calling out their wares
Amidst
the background noise of chatter
Babies’
cry and women gossip
An
argument ensues
Between
trader and punter
Words
are exchanged
Just
out of earshot
“Asylum
seeker” was all I could make out
A
trader or a punter?
I
moved on
It
was a typical spring day
Too
hot for a coat
Too
cold to go without
As
I leave the market, I passed an office building
Smoker’s
skulk outside
Social
pariahs
Consigned
to the gutter
With
the other misfits and addicts
I
pass people on mobiles
All
talking loudly
I
lose count of the number
Teenagers
chatting
What
on earth do they have to say?
Whatever!
Bovvered?
I
stop at a pavement café
To
my left sit a party of French
I
thought how apt it was
And
how when the coalition went to war
To
fight global terrorism
The
French went to lunch
To
my right sat a mixed group
A
forty-something female
Holding
court over a younger crowd
Celebrating
a 22nd birthday
The
oldest in the group by some distance
Was
obviously angling to put another notch in her headboard
On
the farthest table sat
A
party of downs syndrome sufferers
One
kept blowing raspberries of admirable proportions
And
another was doing chimp impressions
The
birthday group obviously found them amusing
Remarking
“he looked like Clyde from the Eastwood movie”
Why
do people have to be so unkind?
A
passerby said loudly
“Look
at the window lickers”
What
a vile world it can be
The
waitress arrives
Complete
with tattoos and multiple piecings
Wearing
an ill-fitting skirt and blouse
Making
her look like a badly stuffed pincushion
I’m
sure she felt she was making a statement
Presumably
to the fashion police.
She
eventually took my order
Why
can’t you just get a coffee anymore?
I
continued my journey
Along
the pavement
To
avoid stopping at a red signal
A
cyclist mounted the pavement
Scatting
pedestrians in all directions
In
response to calls
His
reply was at best unarticulated
Mostly
he just gesticulated
I
decided to go back to the hotel
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