Backroom boy's


We are the poets:
Fine local ladies.
Very nice, kind and caring.
So, so, so respectable.
Our concern is for mankind.
But somehow it seems
We missed out: on sex that is.
Our husbands are dead
Or breathing their last
Or looking after business,
Dodging fairway goose poop,
In the golf club bar!
Doing business, or some one.

We missed out . . .
So we have became poets!

October 2002