The wedded boy came back to work,
with his usual lunch-box.
When he opened it, he found his sandwiches,
lovingly wrapped,
and tied with a blue ribbon.
Oh, the shame of it!
He ran away from his mocking mates,
and it never happened again.
Never is a long time,
but it never happened again.
When I first loved her, my love, with out care,
would kiss me and cuddle me anywhere.
Then Mom declared that 'public displays of affection
are always inappropriate',
and that was that.
Now, when she meets me from trips abroad,
and I long to take her, squeeze her and kiss her,
and rumple my fingers through her darling hair,
she pecks me chastely, quickly hugs, and
nags the kids to kiss their father.
It can't be Queen Victoria's fault.
By all accounts, she was as demonstrative as the best of them.
So who organized this poisonous restraint,
this awkward, chilling, stiff resistance to kind,
this nurtured, propagating, unyielding bony-ness?
No comments:
Post a Comment