Farewell My Lovely
Farewell my lovely, for I must go,
Though I’m not removed by any force,
I think that, for many reasons,Our relationship has now run its course.
It wasn’t your dog that worried me,
Though his habits were certainly vile,
The postman’s out of hospital now,
And the locals don’t run for a mile.
I didn’t mind that you smoked,
Though sixty a day was over the top,
And though I couldn’t see you through the fog,
I never, ever begged you to stop.
I’d quite got over the look of your face,
Though it was quite odd of a sort
Your crooked, lop-sided smile,
Topped off with a rectangular wart.
I looked beyond your cauliflower ear,
Your tattoos never gave me a care,
Your broken nose was never an issue,
Nor that your palms were covered in hair.
But I’ll admit that I got a few shocks,
The first time that we went to bed,
Before taking all of your clothes off,
Your whipped your wig off instead.
You know I’m no oil painting myself,
But I can’t deny that I was galled,
Having chatted up a blonde bombshell,
To find I was with a girl who was bald.
The surgical stockings came off next,
Which you hung up on the peg,
Followed by two pairs of tights,
Then unfastened your wooden leg.
I thought that this might un-nerve me,
But I didn’t want to appear pathetic,
Nor appear to be too un-grateful
At the sight of your pink prosthetic.
But when you took out your teeth,
And placed them on the bed-side table,
I could see them grinning at me,
And I didn’t think that I’d be able.
To love you in the way in the way I’d intended.
At that point, you remember, I turned shy,
And I had to look the other way,
As you removed your cheery glass eye.
You put it there in a glass on the side,
And it gave me a terrible fright,
As it stared at me - not just at first,
But another twice in the night.
So, you see, darling my dearest,
I’m not usually one to moan,
But I’m still left wondering,
How much of you is your own?
There’s so many parts to your make-up,
That make you look so fetching and fair.
But I’m going to find a new girl-friend,
And I’ll make sure the next one is all there.
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012
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