Telephone in a Wishing Well
I woke up this morning as blue as your eyes
With the knowledge that Saturn is not the right size
To fit in the wardrobe we rented in Spring
From the man with the nosebleed who owns half of Tring
(The other half bought by a wife up from Bath)
Who, sadly, has wandered down the Primrose Path
To find that Old Nick is quite seven feet tall
And bonfires in Hell really do consume all
I woke up too early as sad as a wake,
Puzzled by coffins, but not boffins or cheddar,
Cheese that confuses me tends to be redder -
But breakfasted well on the cheddar and cake
That my mother had bought from a man with no head
(It didn't surprise her that he wasn't dead)
With a sixpence she'd found down the back of a chair
While cursing a cushion that wasn't quite there.
I woke with the memory of terrible dreams
That haunted St Agnes while visiting Rheims
I saw Wills and Harry, much smaller, it seems
Supporting their favourite volleyball teams
Their faces all flushed as they watched teenage girls
Their festering frocks and their cobwebby curls
Their long, lissome legs and their faces aglow
With spasms of pain as they lurched to and fro
What St Agnes made of this, I can but guess -
Erotica Royal is what I'd attest
From the heaving the dream produced in her chest
Underneath the soft quilt and her embroidered vest
More than that (you'll realise I'm saving the best
As the last most delicious savory jest
And not simply managing to give you less)
- It's right up the street of the Second Queen Bess!
Contributors: | fester, P, Roland, Apsley, Beefy, Stacy Alexander, dkb, loaf, Anon., E Greejius. |
Poem finished: | 22nd October 2002. |