I tried

Written for the Daily Post’s word prompt “Incomplete.”

I tried to write a poem
about a man with two left feet
but someone rang the doorbell
so it is incomplete

I tried to write a poem
about the life of a hedgehog flea
but someone broke my door down
so it is incomple…

I tried to write a poem
about a girl with a magic thumb
but someone hit me on the head
so it is incom…

I tried to write a poem
about a life of crime and sin
but someone stole my laptop
so it is in…

©Jane Paterson Basil

Rubber Stamp

I asked him to go shopping
for two pints of creamy milk
but he came home with panties –
panties in creamy silk

I asked to go shopping
for pancakes and some bread
but instead of that he bought me
new blankets and a bed

I asked him for a tin of soup
to keep body and soul alive
he came back with a ton of poop
and dumped it in my drive

I asked him to go shopping
for a pack of little candles
but soon he came home dragging
a sack of metal handles

I asked him for a parsnip
some carrots and a swede
he came back with some arsenic
a parrot and some feed

I asked him for some coffee –
at that he looked surprised
but he faithfully dropped a coffin
by the dung-heap on my drive

Next week he’ll have his ears syringed
so he’ll no more be deaf
but first I wish to give him
one tiny last request

I’ll say “Please go to the High Street
I would like a rubber stamp”
and if I’m really lucky
he may just rob a bank.

©Jane Paterson Basil

The promise of romance

I met a man in Nottingham.
when innocent and young.
He promised sweet romance
with his nickel-plated tongue.

He offered me fine cuisine,
then took me to a skip –
said if I wanted to choose my food
I was welcome to take first dip.

We dined on outdated chicken pies,
followed by stale fruit cake,
leftover cheese, damp crackers,
and mysterious spongy bake.

I said I’d like to see a play –
he vowed he’d find something better.
He walked me three miles into town
to search for street theatre

A drunkard played the castanets
to a tone-deaf woman’s song,
a man with but a single leg
pranced and hopped along.

He asked if I liked dancing –
I smiled in quiet assent.
He took me down a tatty street
and up some steps we went.

In his grimy, litter-strewn bedsit
at the end of a corridor;
we danced until we fell upon
a mattress on the floor.

We went to choose a wedding ring
at the jewellers one night;
I chose a band of platinum
and said it was just right.

The window smashed, I grabbed the ring,
but things did not go well;
the police were round the corner –
that’s why I’m in this cell.

So all young girls in Nottingham
who are innocent and young,
don’t listen to vows of sweet romance
from a man with a plated tongue.

©Jane Paterson Basil