On Thursday I met a brilliant poet called Amy Rainbow, she performed a poem called “I Don’t – A Polite Refusal” which I liked very much and demanded a response, so I quote first Amy’s poem- then offer my reply, “I Don’t Either”. This in turn prompted her “Second Thoughts”, and my “Second Thoughts Seconded”, which in turn resulted in her “Change of Heart”
I Don’t – A Polite Refusal
So you want my hand in marriage,
Want my heart till death do part
And you’re pushing for an answer
But I don’t know where to start.
I feel sick each time I see you,
Overjoyed each time you leave,
You are ugly from the inside out,
Your morals make me heave.
If you held me down at gunpoint
I wouldn’t say I do,
If you set yourself on fire
I wouldn’t piss on you.
If you have one single good point
It’s impossible to spot,
If you needed rope to hang yourself
I’d help you tie the knot,
If you asked me for directions
I’d tell you where to go,
If you ever threatened suicide
I’d come and watch the show.
If you claimed cold words could kill you
I’d calmly call your bluff,
A record-breaking barge pole
Would not be long enough.
If no other man existed
I’d still find a better mate,
If you told me you were dying
I’d help you set the date.
You’re less welcome than a dog poo
Trodden on with both bare feet,
More persistent than a pack
Of wild wolverines on heat,
You’re the scab I can’t stop picking,
You’re the boil that just won’t burst,
You will never be the best man
But you’ll always be the worst.
If I threw the biggest party
You’d be bottom on my list,
I despise you, you disgust me,
I presume you get the gist.
If my subtlety confounds you
And my meaning isn’t clear
Then you’re denser than I realised,
More demented than I feared.
No, I will not ever marry you,
I will not be your wife,
I would rather swallow glass
And gouge my eyes out with a knife.
You’re as thick-skinned as a rhino,
As thick as two short planks,
I’d rather eat my entrails.
In other words – no thanks.
By Amy Rainbow
I Don’t Either
When I asked you to marry me and you said no
I just wanted you to know
That I didn’t mean it.
That I should want us together, it was not so
So you might as well go
Just turn on your heels
There will be no appeals
No lamenting no squeals -just satisfaction
On my part
That you should actually work on the supposition
That my absurd proposition -was serious
I said it for a laugh, it was a joke and a half
And you were the victim.
It would feel just like dying
To have your tights draped about drying
And shoes littering every cupboard floor
And however many you have, always needing more
And the fights over whether the toilet seat should be up or down
When up it would prompt you to mutter and glower
But when down it might be inadvertently showered
And you’d want children , now, that would not be any fun
Because genetically it’s best that of you there’s just one
It’s over, how can I hold any strong passion
For someone committed to last year’s fashions
Someone who should have discovered what make- up was for
Someone for whom Trinny and Susanah would have shown – the door.
I don’t want you any more, the memories are raw, too sore
My mother had warned me that you were not good enough
That you were simply not made of marryable stuff
Your motorbike tattoo forced me into conceding
That you may not have been a woman of the requisite breeding
And your deep bronzed tan came from cans not Cannes
A walking advertisement for downmarket brands
Your highlights are fading just like my love for you
Your roots like your soul are now exposed, as I tell you we are through
I have someone else lined up you see
Someone younger, slimmer, lither
So when you say to me “I don’t”,
I reply, “Well I don’t, either”
My response to Amy Rainbow’s “I Don’t”, “I Don’t Either”, elicited a further response from her. I naturally felt obliged to reply:
Your proposal was in jest?
Well yes, you’re bound to say that now.
Did your mother put you up to it?
The shrivelled old cow.
When you went down on one knee
I didn’t know it was a joke
But I like your twisted humour,
You’re quite funny for a bloke.
And that took a lot of bottle,
Men don’t mess with me at all.
It’s not that you’ve impressed me
But, my God, you’ve got some balls.
And you haven’t left me crushed
Or hurt or feeling like a fool
But the bile behind your answer
Was unnecessary, cruel.
Our partnership’s not perfect
But then these things never are
And I’ve spent years and wasted tears
On meaner men by far.
You used to swear you liked your women
Plain, undaubed with slap
But I guess that’s not the first time
That you’ve spouted streams of crap.
And for you to scorn my style
And mention Trinny and Susannah,
They too, like you, are out of date,
You fashion-clueless spanner.
So I have a streak of silver hair?
I’m not sure where that’s leading –
Since you’re the one with hair and gums
My tan’s not from a bottle
It’s my natural complexion,
Which you’d realise if you bothered
With a full-body inspection.
And while we’re on the subject
My tattoo’s way more discreet
Than the ink which covers you
Right from your nipples to your feet.
You mentioned kids? No way, José,
That really would be hell,
A life with you is grim enough
Without your spawn as well.
But good for you, you’ve answered back,
The worm has truly turned,
Respect’s not automatic
And mine’s not quickly earned.
To be honest, I’m impressed,
I didn’t think you had it in you
And I’m wondering if this thing of ours
Could possibly continue.
I always thought you liked me
In those tights and kitten heels
But I’ll dump the lot in Oxfam –
No great hassle, no big deal.
The issue with the toilet seat,
You know that’s my pet hate.
Could a compromise be come to?
We could always try Relate.
You are knocking on a bit
But so am I, don’t get me wrong,
What I mean is that for us
Till death do part might not last long.
You’ve the manners of a mongoose
And I can’t abide your snoring
But then life without your freakish ways
Can briskly become boring.
This nymphet you’ve got lined up –
Don’t get ideas above your station,
I’m sure that she exists, my dear,
In your imagination.
I’ve tried out other men
Yet found the passion’s just not there
And how often have our friends said
That we make a perfect pair?
You have piles of imperfections
And you’re sure not Mr. Right
But you’re all there is to hand, I guess.
In other words – I might.
10th July 2011
Second Thoughts – Seconded
I am now in receipt of your poem of July 10
But I really am not sure that I can consider you again
A seconds thought I haven’t even given you for your heartless crime
And if I could, I would give you, even less time
I admit that things have since not gone entirely my way, which is to say
That my position has now become somewhat, well quite a lot, worse
As will become apparent, in this plangent tear stained verse.
The blond bimbo who seduced me and promised such sexual heaven
Has cruelly deserted me for an estate agent called Kevin
I see that your capacity for vitriol
Is clearly undiminished
And you still delight in humiliating me
Even though we are still finished
You complain that my fingers did not caress
That my hands were slow to roam,
Well maybe, perhaps rightly
But that is the irrefutable effect of a
Neck high cotton winceyette nightie,
You see – and weird ,genital jewellery……….
That rattled, while on, you endlessly prattled
About something or another
Invariably my mother
Which was not nice or wise
But that woman you despised,
For seeing through your tricks and your lies
She would cut you down to size
Which was not a ten as you used to fantasize
But a few sizes larger……………………
And although you tried desperately to shine and impress
That Harvey Nicks bag still held a skirt from BHS
Not that there were not some good times
Seeing you fast asleep, past a door ajar peeping
I loved you most of all then – because you were not speaking
Jehova’s witnesses feared our house
And salesmen would not call
For they knew that if they solicited you
They would leave with bugger all.
You’re intensely annoying, and bolshy and brash
But without me you would have so little to lash
When writing’s a chore and you scream in frustration
I act as your muse and help with punctuation
Although sometimes I find your caustic words riling
I have to confess, that they can also leave me smiling
You’re the mistress of mean and of cold-hearted looks
But it’s me that secretly buys out all of your books
And although first you said ,”I don’t” and not, ” I do”
Your witty entreaty means I now ,” just might” too.
To which Amy replied:
A Change of Heart
Your fickleness is famous
So I knew you’d get in touch
And I fear, my dear, it’s clear as clear,
You did protest too much,
Pretending your own innocence,
Embellishing my vices,
Results of your embarrassing
Belated midlife crisis.
Your Barbie dolled-up girlfriend
Was never going to stay,
I’m just surprised it took two weeks
Before she ran away.
She wanted fresher meat than yours,
That’s plain for all to see,
But Kevin? What a bastard!
He swore that he loved me.
I guess some men are worse than you,
Although that’s hard to swallow.
In honesty, I’m finding that
You’re quite an act to follow.
I miss your witty wittering,
Male escorts bore me stiff,
And it’s not like this is permanent,
It’s more a lovers’ tiff.
I don’t know if it’s healthy
To rake things up again
But I feel you’ve opened up
And that I ought to do the same.
For now I’ll overlook
Your bitter banter and your spite,
And I’ll take you at face value
When you tell me that you might.
You spoke the words I longed to hear
So maybe all’s not lost,
My tongue, at times, is razor sharp
And then I pay the cost.
I can not say I’m sorry –
All I did was speak my mind –
But I may have come across
A tad vindictive or unkind.
I never meant to hurt you,
Not often anyway,
And losing you I will not do,
That price I can not pay.
I realise that from me
Such soppy drivel sounds absurd
But my shrink says I should think
About the impact of my words.
Those times you thought me sleeping,
I watched you, wide awake,
I prayed that you would stay with me,
My heart was fit to break,
For yes, I had suspicions
That your interest had strayed,
What woman wants to witness
That’s she’s cuckolded, been played?
My obsession with your mother –
I know it’s slightly odd
But I’m jealous of the hold she has,
You’re two peas in a pod.
I’ve thrown out those old nighties
And I’m going on a diet,
Apparently you just eat less,
New-fangled, but I’ll try it.
I’m taking out the piercings
And I won’t get any more,
Now the novelty’s worn off I find
They often leave me sore.
Although I’m no spring chicken
And you are no great catch
It’s true, in you, I can’t deny,
I’ve really met my match.
I’ve masked my pain these last few weeks,
Your absence brings such sadness
And life without your tender touch
Is futile, folly, madness.
I’m left bereft, depressed, distressed,
I’m nothing without you,
I’ll love you for eternity,
In other words – I do!
July 12th 2011