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Sonnet No 333

Sonnet No 333 

When I come wobbling home from down the pub

you make my head throb with your rolling pin.

Then take the water from the babies tub

and wash away my alcoholic sin.

You shove me in the spare room where I snore

and fart just like a dray horse all night long.

As morning breaks you gently push the door

and gag at Nature’s dreadful beery pong.

The curry rice and chips I brought you back

I dropped and stood in on the hallway tiles.

So now my task before I get the sack

is cleaning up beneath your vengeful smiles.

But afterwards just as I have promised

I’ll write you another clunky sonnet.

🌷(9)

◄ Hope Resurfaces For the Girl at Greggs

Comments

Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Wed 18th Sep 2024 11:42

Hangover throbbing
'neath my bonnet;
instead of blubbing,
p'rhaps write a sonnet?
no more a-clubbing,
au revoir, Dubonnet!

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Trevor Alexander

Fri 13th Sep 2024 13:16

...and the morning's throbbing head could be earned either from beer or rolling pin, but stoically denied in the interests of domestic harmony. 😉

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Graham Sherwood

Mon 9th Sep 2024 22:52

A like for sheer audacity (and bravery)! Well done.

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