Poetry by Jeff Green


Perfect Partners

by cricketjeff on October 15, 2010.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

You’d rather that Nora would trample or gore ya
Than subject your nose to her breath
Like sewage stained cheeses and dreadful diseases
One whiff is a sentence of death
She washed at least yearly but rarely severely
Just looked at the bath from afar
Her toothbrush was rotten and almost forgotten
And used to brush moss from her car
Her socks were quite squelchy her knickers were feltchy
They couldn’t be seen and survived
One nurse nearly touched her but then terror clutched her
And after a year she revived
But Nora saw Martin and something was startin’
To change how she looked at her life
She scrubbed herself nightly and soon she shone brightly
And thought of becoming a wife
With buckets of bleaches and soaps made from peaches
Her smell was reduced to a stench
She made an impression and after one session
This man grew attached to the wench
It seemed quite appalling that he could be falling
For one who smelt far worse than Hell
But Martin was happy turns out Nora’s chappie
Was a man who had no sense of smell!