Czechmate!
'I won't be back 'til very late, '
The note from her had read,
He poured himself another drink
And headed off to bed,
She often spent the night away
Carousing with 'the girls',
The forty-something's group of them
Out on their monthly whirls.
They'd known each other all their lives
From kindergarten on,
Had played with beads and Barbi dolls,
With lipstick on the lawn,
They'd had the odd pyjama nights
Had ogled all the males,
And giggled through their early teens
At love, and lovers tales.
And now they'd all been married off
For twenty years or more,
Their nights were spent in darkened bars
Where some had hoped to score,
With jaded lives, they gossiped there,
At every fault, the blame
Was laid right at the husband's door,
At every husband's name.
And so it was with Mary Jean
Who said that she was bored,
She said her husband Jack was tired,
He lay in bed and snored,
The days of making love had gone
She lay awake at night,
Frustrated in the marriage bed
That once had brought delight.
At home, her husband Jack, asleep
Had dreamt of other things,
Of dancing nymphs who never spoke
To him of boring things,
Who never held their hands out every
Payday for his cheque,
But fed him loving tit-bits, kissed
His feet, and pecked his neck.
Then sometime in the early hours
He heard the bedroom door
Creak open, as his wife returned
Tip-toeing on the floor,
He tried to cling to sleep, to keep
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poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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