The Wife

The Wife

My fella he once called to me
He says to me C’mere
I walked over quite seductively
And clipped him round the ear
Don’t be talking down to ME
Like I’m some sort of hound
Or you’ll be digging with your fingertips
From six feet underground

That bloke, where ever did he come from
And is he going back?
Every word he utters
He’s only asking for a smack
“Have you seen my bleedin’ underpants?”
he calls out in a roar
No I fecking haven’t
Why not check the poxy drawer?

See he believes in evolution
Not in Adam and the Mot
When he strips his dirty underwear
And leaves them rooted to the spot
He thinks they’ll form a chrysalis
And sprout a pair of wings
Cos that’s the only way those kacks
Will make the fecking laundry bin.

I’m a modern type of woman me,
The type that goes on strike
If he takes me for granted
He’ll get his head put on a spike
Don’t get me started on the cooking
It’s like rocket science to him
I leave him with ingredients
The instructions on the tin
I’ve hardly left the shagging driveway
When my mobile starts to ring
“Should I take the plastic off the chicken before I put it in?”

It’s a wonder he’s survived this long
Since stepping from the cave
When he asked me “will you be my wife?”
What he meant was “be my slave”.

I’ve hatched a plan, I bought the axe
I’ve thought the whole thing through
He’s going underneath the apple tree
While I bring in someone new.

© Sinead Hamill

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One Response to The Wife

  1. Simone says:

    Feckin brilliant
    My favourite

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