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Older boys telling younger boys “bad” jokes is part of the traditions in schools, much as the guardians of Elite Schools might deny it…here’s something that happened in the 1960s, and perhaps before too, and perhaps always….


“Who’s the best person to marry
when you’re grown up?”

asks the Senior boy
(with his double entendre)
in the shed behind the canteen


three juniors shrug their shoulders
and then one ventures: “Marry a traffic cop?”
“No,” answers the Senior
“Never marry a traffic cop
cos at the crucial moment she’ll say: ‘HALT!’”

Some boys laugh, one or two innocents scratch their heads

“I’ll marry a doctor,” says another
“Yeah?” says the Senior
“At the crucial moment
she’ll be saying: ‘OK -
you can put on your clothes now!’”


Now the juniors laugh;
they are getting wiser
but still an innocent says:
“I’ll marry a bus conductor”
“Oh no, no,” says the boy Senior
“She’ll be insisting: ‘Ticket, please! Ticket, please!’”

“I’ll marry Susan at the canteen
where she makes the best
sandwiches for all those who hunger,”

says the boy, obviously from a very charitable home
“No, no,” says the Senior. “She’ll be roaring:
‘Who’s next? Who’s next? Who’s next?’
And you’ll have all the men
within three miles
queuing up at your doorway!”



The juniors have gotten too smart now
Nobody offers any other possibilities
But innocents die hard
and there’s one last little boy:
“I’ll marry my teacher!”
“Well, isn’t she the best,” says Senior
“for at the crucial moment,
she’ll be saying:
‘Do it again! Do it again!’”


Now, the boys enjoyed it all; the girls never heard it, except when they married these initiates…and all the eminent people in the professions have been none the wiser…
Don't blame me...it was the Senior boy who said all that...and he cast a spell over me, with the power of the Ancient Mariner, to repeat it at the most odd moments...Yes, if you must know, I did end up marrying my teacher...
At said time
and said date and day
I was driving down
Exigency Road
when said gray car
Rego XXhT665
was driving a distance before me
at speed as specified by law
And all of a sudden
there was this so-far unsaid car
that came speeding from the back
and soon was before me
and it all happened like Travolta’s greased lightning
and now-said speeding car hit from the back
already-said car that was behaving itself
driving at speed said by law
(there was a loud sound like: BOOOOM!)
and then the said speeding car reversed
and then ran off, even though traffic lights turned red
It was surely what I saw a hit-and-run case,
not according to the law, which is against the law
And this is what I saw was on
the said aggressive car
that hit illegally, and ran away quickly and unlawfully:
“POLICE  -  VVT21 County“
Letters from Mom -  Letter 4 of 4: Life, Death, and Life*


Dear my Dearest *****

Life and Death, dearest *****
that’s what  news I’ve got for you here
in this post; sad and happy, dearie
ain’t that what’s it all about
Cos God gets drunk every other night
(just like your Dad)
life’s a mixed bag


Three of your school friends
last week
were in a pick-up truck
It was Dom who was driving
and the truck fell off the bridge
and into the water
Dom rolled down his window and got off
but the other two in the back
John and Mary, though good swimmers
they drowned, dearie
cos they couldn’t get the tail-gate opened


And your sister is now pregnant
and she’s all excited
but we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl
so we’ll decide later
if you are aunt or uncle
And your sis says if it’s a girl
she’ll name it after me –
so, she’ll be called Mom;
and if it’s a boy
she’ll name it after Dad –
so, of course, he’ll be called Dad






And that was good to hear from you
on the phone
you’re coming back home
You can run away from school
run away from your town
run away from mummy -
but you always got to
come back to mummy
dear O dearie my *****


See you soon, Darl *****
*Your loving Mom
And that , dear folks young and olde of HP, ends the series….This series is dedicated to Victoria, yes Our Lady of Good Cheer, here at HP…
The idea for a poem of humour on mothers came about from a recent comment by Victoria on my poem: “no charge”:
“ I know little of physics...much about mothering...”
Letters from Mom -  Letter 3 of 4: More news from home




Dear my Dearest *****

Oh, what a boring new week here;
nothing happens…

We went to the post office to send
you the heavy coat you asked for
with the metal buttons
And the new clerk at the post office said
the coat’s too heavy with them metal buttons
so he cut off all the buttons
and then the weight was right
and so he put the metal buttons in the pockets
You’ll find them right there in the coat –
ain’t he mighty helpful…

And the cemetery people sent Dad another notice
said If he don’t pay another 100 dollars
for the grave where they put Grandma down in
then, they said: “Up she comes!”

and  dear, dear old Uncle Woods
he fell drunk into the local whiskey vat and died
and he was cremated, as he’d always wanted
and no one here needed lights three nights
for Uncle Woods, he burned so bright all three
days and nights…

Oh and one last thing
Little Tim and I were trapped
in the car two hours
cos Dad locked the keys in the car;
and it took him so long to get me
and Little Tim out…
Sometimes I think
Dad’s really going senile before his time


Write to me, or call us again, Darl *****
Your loving Mom**

P.S. *We wanted to send you some money in
        But this envelope here is already sealed
This series is dedicated to Victoria, yes Our Lady of Good Cheer, here at HP…
The idea for a poem of humour on mothers came about from a recent comment by Victoria on my poem: “no charge”:
“ I know little of physics...much about mothering...”
...poems based on an online joke...
 Jan 2013 Helios Rietberg
Julia
s                                                           y
u                                                                 o
r                                 O                                u
r                               \ | /                                r
o                                 |                                 s
u                            /\                           e
n                                                   l
   d                                        f  
with your own warm water,

emerged. never experience

fresh air
 Jan 2013 Helios Rietberg
Julia
hospital walls
floors shiny squares
upon which death
stains
white on white on white on white
beep the monitor
says blood cell counts
are all wrong,
they're all wrong too much
shine why does it all
shine so brightly

white on white
on white on
white
And see, this cold ice
that lives in the test tube
is so in love
with the Bunsen burner
and coming near
it exclaims in intense love:
“O flame – eternal flame mine –
O my roaring blue flame, my hot love
Oh see how I melt
whenever near you!”


“Oh, cool it,” says the flame
*“It’s just a phase
you’re passing through”
…lovingly adapted from a joke I found in cyberspace….
three specialists travel in their car
down Victoria, Australia
through rural Mildura
and they see fields
and a black cow standing in one

“Cows in Mildura,”
announces the astronomer
“are black”

“Tchk! Tchk!” says the logician
(Eminent Professor Emeritus)
“Some cows in Mildura are black”

“Let’s express it with precision,”
says the Mathematician
*“It is exact to say
there is at least one field
in Mildura
with at least one cow
of which at least one side is black”
1....based on a joke told in Simon Singh’s “Fermat’s Last Theorem” (1997), mentioned in “You Talking to Me?”(2011) by Sam Leith  
2. Speaking of precision, I am aware the word “eminent” may not be used as a noun, but hey! – this is poetry, where imprecision is precision…
Falling in love
               with you is like
waking up to bright yellow,
             peeking through sky blue curtains,
warmth caressing  
streaming hair on a soft pillow.
         It is subconscious smiles from
                 lulling visions & the murmur
of loved ones in the living room on Sunday.
         Loving you is the wafting scent
                  of your favorite blueberry pancakes
                           & the crackle of meat on a griddle,
        the peace of an afternoon
                      surrounded by loved ones—
                                 half-awake & still dreaming.
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