‘The Singles Club’, (for bashing bachelors),
Keeps singing ‘Get him to the church on time’.
I’ve been out with some girls to scotch rumours
That I might be gay. Is it such a crime
To be footloose but not so fancy-free?
You hear ‘wanker’ a lot, when you’re alone.
They call me ‘Saint Celibate’. 'thirty-one,
You know...’ They’ve arranged a meeting with Joan.
‘Dance with her! Go On!' As though we’ll mate there
And then. I’d like Joan if it was our date,
Not theirs. She thanks me for admitting that.
Like adulterers, we meet in secret. We both hate
The neighbourhood panda-watch police force
That now names our kids and plans our divorce.
THE END
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