Same time everyday
He’s there in bed
Waiting for breakfast
And paper to be brought,
Snuggled down
Beneath the covers,
Snores and farts
And laughing dreams,
But for you, Berthe,
It’s no fun, all this
Waiting and fetching
And putting up with his
Bum ways, his two minutes
Gropes, his sexless romps,
And that sight of him
Laying there, that body,
That head, that unkempt
Crop of hair, but at least
Tonight when you’re out
With Fran with her love
Of women and contempt
For man, and her kisses
Over your flesh and soul
And love soaked heart
You won’t mind being away
From your slob of a husband
The useless lover and two-bit fart.
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