Meditation On The A30
A man on his own in a
Is revenging himself on his wife;
He open the throttle and bubbles with
And puffs at his pitiful
She's losing her looks very fast,
She loses her temper all day;
That lorry won't let me get past,
This Mini is blocking my way."Why can't you step on it and shift her!
I can't go on crawling like this!
At breakfast she said that she wished I was dead-Thank heavens we don't have to kiss."I'd like a nice blonde on my
And one who won't argue or nag.
Who dares to come hooting at me?
I only give way to a Jag."You're barmy or plastered,
I'll pass you, you bastard-I will overtake you.
I will!"As he clenches his pipe, his moment is
And the corner's accepting its kill.
Sir John Betjeman
Другие работы автора
Ireland With Emily
Bells are booming down the bohreens, White the mist along the grass, Now the Julias, Maeves and
Upper Lambourne
Up the ash tree climbs the ivy, Up the ivy climbs the sun, With a twenty-thousand pattering, Has a valley breeze begun,
The Irish Unionists Farewell To Greta Hellastrom In 1922
Golden haired and golden heartedI would ever have you be, As you were when last we Smiling slow and sad at me Oh
Diary Of A Church Mouse
Here among long-discarded cassocks, Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks, Here where the vicar never looksI nibble through old service books Lean and alone I spend my