POETRY: HE DOES ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FOR ME, IN THAT WAY… AT ALL BY PAUL TRISTRAM

She declared generally and rather too loudly

from over by the busy kitchen table.

Amphetamine and alcohol encouraged,

in between the banging music being changed,

in someone else’s house hull of strangers,

2am on a Welsh Winter’s morning.

“Yes, he’s at home now looking after the kids,

why pay for a babysitter?

I just leave that fat fuck at home instead.

Love, Ha! don’t be so ludicrous,

there’s no such thing is there? I mean not really.

I needed a doormat and he was the only one about

…not saying that I wouldn’t have minded

a better looking ‘buff’ doormat

but hey, we work with what we’ve got, don’t we.

The one night stands, oh I just tell him

that people are trying to cause trouble for us

and split him up from his wonderful wife

and the daft sod just draws closer to me.

He’s like putty in my hands, bless him

and shit beneath my ‘wearing the trousers’ shoe

…and he’ll stay exactly where he is until

I decide to scrape him off and then ruin him!”

Written by Paul Tristram

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