12-27

Tub of Lard

My love is like a tub of lard—
Cold, unmoving, white and hard—
And never buys a sodding card.

My love is like a box of chocs
That's been dropped and taken knocks
And been ground in by grubby socks.

My love is like a keg of beer—
Always drunk and always here
And tastes more like piss every year.

My love is like a rack of ribs—
When eating he needs twenty bibs—
And spends his days just telling fibs.

My love is like a can of coke
Producing wind beyond a joke,
But when's said and done he's still my bloke.

by Tracy Davidson

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Tracy Davidson, from the UK, enjoys writing poetry and flash fiction whether humorous, serious, or downright weird. Her work has appeared in various journals and anthologies. Currently single, Tracy has not given up hope George Clooney comes to his senses and sees that a short, dumpy, middle-age brunette would be better for him than the tall, leggy young blondes he presently favours. Meantime, Tracy consoles herself with too much chocolate and playing with her Schnauzer (no, that's not a euphemism!).