there was no sign, and oh dear, came the wail
Without my purse and car keys I am stuck, lamented Gael
We gathered round in consternation, trying to work out where
And how and why the bag had gone, while Gael sighed in despair
Then June remembered passing Dawn, a bag upon her arm
She’s taken it mistakenly, at least it’s safe from harm.
So rushing to the phone went Gael to try and contact Dawn
With no reply, she asked if we knew where they could have gone
I have no idea, cried Karen, Maureen said, nor me
Ethel offered Gael a ride; I’m leaving presently.
Maybe they’re at the hospital, said Mavis with a smile
They might be seeing Margaret and stopped to chat a while
Lynne promptly rang the hospital but no, there was no sign
Of Dawn or Audrey. Goodness knows where they’ve been all this time.
One by one the ladies all departed for their homes
Leaving Gael with no alternative but wait alone
Meanwhile Dawn and Audrey did a slow trawl round the shops
They spied a lovely bakery and thought they’d make a stop
They dined on tasty cream cakes, doughnuts, pies and other stuff
Finally, regretfully, they sighed, we’ve had enough.
They drove home by the scenic route, much prettier by far
With not a thought for Gael with no bag or lunch or car
Arriving home, the phone went. Audrey grabbed it on the spot
And Dawn discovered what she’d thought was her handbag, was not
Red-faced she drove back hastily, returning bag and keys
So Gael in relief could pack her boxes up and leave
There is no moral obvious to outline in this fable
But this – make sure you watch out for the old bag at your table!
The Tattoo
I’m told I am quite talented artistically, it’s true
At painting porcelain I’m quite adept
So one day I decided to invest in a tattoo
And to the local parlour, off I went
The tattoo artist welcomed me and showed me his designs
From fantasy to realistic stuff
I duly studied everything from abstract art to signs
Until, confused, I thought I’d seen enough
A small pink tinted rosebud for my buttocks held appeal
As did a flight of doves around my navel
The artist asked my preference and we shook hands on the deal
I smiled at him and climbed up on the table
I remembered all the medical procedures I’ve endured
Convinced I am the subject of a curse
Despite assurance that I’ll almost certainly be cured
The outcome is invariably worse
And so instead of flowers or birds I made a small concession
I bared my belly and had written there
A cautionary notice for the medical profession
Extremely Fragile. Handle With Great Care.
The Telephone
Does anyone else feel frustration and hate
When you phone up a business? A voice says Please wait
A machine plays you music, metallic and strange
You sit through six verses of Home on The Range
Then a sweet soothing voice interrupts with a coo
To say you are number nineteen in the queue
Grinding your teeth in frustration you swear
It would be a lot faster to drive over there
The music continues, the beat loud and strong
As a male voice choir bursts into a song
A crackle of static announces in glee
Like a racehorse, you’ve moved into place number three
Another ten minutes with Elvis you pass
The receptionist comes to the rescue at last
You gasp out your troubles but only to find
That help is the last thing she has on her mind
Press one of these buttons she gives you a choice
Passing you on to the next answering voice
This one is foreign, not English at all
Frustrated you pound with your fist on the wall
The outlandish babbling continues and then
You’re switched onto Home on The Range once again
Your blood pressure level grows higher and higher
When comes a recording of Handel’s Messiah
At last with a click your call is put through
A real live person says May I help you?
You start to reply, realise with dismay
You’ve forgotten whatever you rang up to say
The Woman Driver
I am a woman driver
Of this I’m not ashamed
Although I feel that as a group
We are unfairly blamed
Our brains are differently designed
And please don’t scoff, it’s true
But when they gave directions out
I wasn’t in the queue
I cannot turn a trailer round
Or back it through a gate
I cannot overtake a truck
Or steer a tractor straight
When it comes to parking
I’m the first one to admit
That in the allocated space
My car just will not fit
I cannot read a road map
And I cannot navigate
I hit road signs and lamposts
That fail to indicate
I collide with stationary cars
That drive along too fast
I do not drive to win a race
I’m happy to be last
I crawl up hills with caution
And brake at every bend
I slow down unexpectedly
To wave out to a friend
I know I’m good at driving
And I like to make this clear
When travelling as a passenger
I call out from the rear
Don’t stop – you need to indicate!
You should be slowing down!
Watch out for that yellow car!
The map is upside down!
Turn right, no left, that’s right.
That’s wrong! I meant the other side!
Look out! There is a pottery
With room to park outside!
I think this is a one way street!
We need to turn round here
Or maybe there. Why are you stopping?
What’s the matter dear?
I wish you’d drive more carefully
I’m sure it isn’t far
What’s that oily rag for, darling?
What are you doing? Argh!
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