Tale of events |
The three of them were creeping through the dark While trying not to set the dogs to bark Their night of drinking had been for a lark From alcohol they’d gained a brighter spark ‘My Mary’s sure to hit the bleeding roof’ ‘And my wife’s got a good aim with her hoof ‘Don’t worry, lads, you keep your heads aloof I’ve got your back there’s no fear of reproof With muffled giggles floating in the air The jokes they told had taken on new flair But came the time for climbing up the stair And three men then reduced to just a pair Now Alan found it hard to place his feet And couldn’t get his key and lock to meet Afraid his wife would soon come out to greet He urged his friend back down into the street When finally he gained entry inside He tripped and fell right down on his backside The bottle he had carried for a ride Was shattered into parts of his thick hide Hip pocket torn, and seeing all the blood Alan tried to stem the reddened flood Removed his trousers, feeling like a dud Stuck sticking plaster all across the crud And so to bed to slumber through the night But morning came and things they just weren’t right His wife came in and woke him all a-fright And bade him ‘come and look at this here sight’ So Alan rose and followed feeling meek Displeasure radiating from Monique At bathroom door she had him take a peek His eyes sought focus on a sight oblique ‘What’s that?’ she cried, her voice in shrill demand She moved aside and pointed with her hand And all at once he got to understand Her reason for implying reprimand His hand crept slowly down onto his bum Not knowing how to void this con-undrum While Alan wondered what was next to come Felt wheels inside his head begin to hum ‘My darling I have need here to explain I took a fall and felt in so much pain On bottle in my pocket I had lain And thinking was befuddled in my brain Excuse me dear, for here I must sound crass Was bleeding quite profusely from my ass I tried to see the damage in the glass I fear I missed my target, darling lass’ ‘That mirror bears the brunt of all my sin By then my head was really in a spin’ His humble words now rumbled from within ‘Those band-aids there, should be against my skin’ |