Sometimes I'd like to don a mask
Prior to facing up to a new task
Or maybe I should down a flask
Of a port that's chilled & red.
Sometimes I fancy I'll kiss the wife
Till I see she's armed with a knife
Then I realise the value of my life
And I find solace in a port that's chilled & red.
Sometimes I think she's looking frisky
So I pour myself a large shot of whiskey
Then I fear such a move maybe risky
And I pour a second glass that's chilled & red
Sometimes I go to bed sad and teary
Bones so tired and body weary
Then I ask, 'Any chance tonight Deary?'
She pours me my third glass, it's chilled & red.
Sometimes in the middle of the night I awake
She smiles at me, I start to shake
Looking like she's on the make
And now it's me that's chilled and red
Ready for sleep, that is.
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Author Notes
If you think this poet is crazy, the words above, and his wife support that theory.
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