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


17 thoughts on “Rubber Stamp

    1. Paul’s asleep on my sofa, and everything is quiet. This is just escapism. I can’t write anything serious because it would be too traumatising.
      It’s OK – it works for me, I’m having fun – except he has just this second woken up…

      Liked by 1 person

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