I’m leaving a note out for the milkman
Told him I’m not all that thirsty
And that I hope his cows don’t bursty

But I signed it in the name of my next-door neighbour
So that the milkman thinks she’s living with me
She’s a gorgeous bird
And would certainly have shown concern for the herd.

The children say we’ve got to
That we’d be crazy not to
“We’ll treat you,” they said
“You’re a long time dead.”
Trouble is, travelling’s not so easy now
What with my legs and Malcolm’s hip dysplasia
But we’re off to Euthanasia this year!

In a dark alley
Behind The Rex
Mary Carey executed her ex
Dumped him by the side of the street
Revenge was sweet
She cut off his head
Collecting his thoughts in a black plastic bag.

Took it home and showed her Mother
Who took Mary to the attic
And showed her the others
“You did all this?” gasped Mary Carey
“No, some of them are Nana’s
And Great-Grandma’s too
There’s allsorts here
*****, ***** buggers every one
Christian, Jew and Hindu.
Men, they’re all the same.”
Which would be nice if you were talking world peace.

Mary Carey had a daughter
And, in an attempt to break the family tradition,
Gave her away to the nuns at the Mission
Grown, they sent her to Rome.
Where, in St Peter's Square
She bedded
Deaded then
Beheaded every man who tried to kiss her
Leaving behind a trail of bloodied mitres
And a pile of bin liners that might have been tied tighter.
“Can’t stop
Myself.”
And off she popped in search of other buggers.

But the plastic bags in St Peter’s Square are suppurating
And, far away from the Catholics,
The collected thoughts of de-bodied Protestant
Muslim, Hindu, Rastafarian and Jewish men
Are flatulating through the puckered ***-holes of untidily tied knots.
Some smell of roses
Some of Forget-Me-Nots
Of Valentine’s bouquets
A lot of them smell like old ashtrays.

And one or two of rotten apples.
These waft across the polished toecaps of young girls
And leave a nasty stain.
***** minds:
They're all the same.

I put you in my poems,
Keep you near, Judy dear.
If you knew how much I sat around and pined,
You’d **** your tongue and shoot me right between the lines.

My dog Lucky passed away today
Over a cliff
I’d seen him put his head out of a car window before
But this was different
He did not bare his teeth
His lips did not ripple
And I did not laugh at his flapping ears
He howled all the way down
I blame her, the *****

Lucky was a mutt
And not much more than a puppy when he met her
She was a purebred Red Setter
And a good deal older
With a pedigree like that
She should have known better
He wanted fun, she wanted his body
But Lucky wouldn’t let her
He’d sniff her bottom
And she’d present
But Lucky wasn’t keen to
Because I’d had him seen to

He bought her a stick for Christmas
Money wasted
She refused to chase it

She went off with a Beagle she met in a bar
He’d made a packet testing cigars
He bought her a fur coat and a fancy car
She demanded a diamond studded collar
And he said he would sort her one
She wanted a dog and he bought her one
The rich are different

Which left Lucky holding the Christmas stick
And he would sleep with it
And his back legs would go
And not very gently
As if he were chasing a Bentley
He stopped eating and his whining broke my heart
So, this morning, whilst we were out for a walk
I took that stick and made it disappear
But throwing it away was a bad idea.