Another stray poem




I spread out like syrup, across the settee,

With Trollope, some Wallop, and scallops for three;

‘Good Lord!’ said my wife, at the sound of my purr,

Who knew that my leisure was all thanks to her.

She’d hidden my hard drive, the screen and the mouse:

(‘For a fortnight, no surfing the net in our house!’)


With the cushions plumped up, and the curtains still drawn,

We dozed, our eyes closed, were refreshed and reborn,

And we picked up the thread of the chats we’d enjoyed

Half a decade or more before web-induced void.

Our minds and our bodies had muscles to flex,

And (frankly) we talked about casual sex.


It was later that evening, in wonder, unwound,

That I spotted the keyboard half-hidden, now found.

‘What is it, my darling?’ She sprawled on the floor.

‘Oh nothing… a site… that I must just explore.’


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