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Poetry Magnum Opus

Sex and Love in Post-Christian Circumstances (R)


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You don’t fuck around with love,

you fuck within it. Nobody told me

when I was a dumb young ma-ma-man

and this truth eluded me, I sorta took

sharp notice of the girls, we always do,

and went for the one-night stands.


Sex without love is like, I don’t know,

spaghetti without any sauce on top,

sushi without the fish, steak without

potatoes & two veg: ham without eggs,

chips with no salt and vinegar.


It just doesn’t do you, it leaves

you feeling insubstantial, hardly fed

or watered at all, a drooping dahlia

in the garden of life. Maybe a begonia.

This (you think) is no bloody good at all.


So then you get married. Sick and tired

of dating, you propose to the next sexy

thing that comes along, a girl you rather like

in the hope that , having said she likes you too,

things will more or less work out OK.


Generally, they don’t.

If you have kids it gets even worse.

But …but sometimes they do!


It’s like betting on the red and black

at roulette. Sometimes you are lucky,

sometimes you are not. Hell of a way

to set up a lifelong partnership.


You just get tired of dating girls

and going through the same old fandango.

I think that’s what drives most mediocre guys

like me, and you, Bubba, to say

you want to get married or what?


Dreadfully romantic.


Surprisingly, girls usually say yes.

Lotsa pressure coming down on the other side,

especially after you meet the family.

You can see why they want to get away

and you, ya booby, are the escape chute.


It’s a 50-50 proposition, taken all in all,

and love can grow. High school sweethearts

are not normal, they end up murdering one another

with alarming frequency. Killing children as well

which I distinctly dislike, leave the kids alone


so they can grow up to be serial killers

or recipients of the Pulitzer or Nobel Prizes.

I just hate the idea of parents who have

totally fucked up their own sorry lives

dragging their children down with them.


Magda Goebbels may you rot in hell,

poisoning all five of your children!

Not just you … all who did the same.


I think there should be neighbourhood comfort ladies

ringing at your doorbell, ding-dong.

I can run upstairs and fuck your husband, if you like,

and save you the grief and trouble. We accept

Visa and Mastercard, but, I’m sorry, not American Express.


Amexco is notorious for delayed payments.

If you have one of their cards, get rid of it.


Similar services should be available for ladies

thanks to Equal Rights legislation: we can send Roland

around when your husband’s at work, or even

when he’s at home peering through a hole in the wall.

Our condoms are double-strength and guaranteed.


So what hath sex to do with love?

A lot, a lot, a lot!

But sometimes very little.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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