by cricketjeff on May 11, 2011. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
He ticked all the boxes she claimed not to like.
He’d never read Tolstoy, nor Shakespeare or Proust,
His parties weren’t smart, but gave Fullers a boost.
Tattooed on his knuckles, L O V E left and H A T E right,
His belches were tuneless and quite impolite.
He bathed on a Monday, each third week or so,
And when he bent down there was bum-crack on show.
What could she be thinking, the man is a bear,
He hadn’t a comb so he shaved off his hair,
He drooled over spark plugs and brakes and front forks,
Not music by Mozart and erudite talks.
Her best friend said “Mary, I don’t understand,
You won’t get the life that you told us you planned,
He isn’t a golfer, he’s never played bridge,
Last time I came round he said ‘beer’s in the fridge’
He can’t join our quiz team, he’ll never learn chess …”
“Who cares” replied Mary “I’ve seen him undress!”
No idea where that came from!
Fullers brew excellent real ale in London.