The Christmas Turkey
Husbands can’t be perfect, concessions must be made
But my one has a habit, that leaves others in the shade
It’s such a major issue and always causes a fight
For he keeps on farting, morning, noon and night
I told him to change his ways, for I was left in little doubt
One day in the future, his guts would all fall out
I said this was no joke and he’d better heed my warning
Before someone shoved a cork up there, to cut down on global warming
We went to watch the Bledisloe, but the Kiwis threw a tantrum
Before they did the Hakka, he blurted out their anthem
That really ripped the nightie, you should have heard them bitch
We performed a strategic retreat, from our cousins ‘cross the ditch
He even let one go in church, a day I long will rue
The smell it was so bad in there, the statues all shot through
The old priest stopped in his tracks and said in a trembling tone
I can’t see the fires of hell, but I can smell the brimstone
Then an evil thought came to me, as the Christmas turkey I did stuff
From all of his gross habits, I had just about enough
He’s been like this since we were wed, I was tired of this abuse
Now I found a novel way, to put the giblets to good use
I crept up to our bedroom, while he was fast asleep
Trying not to disturb him, but he didn’t make a peep
I quickly slipped the giblets, down his pyjama pants
I knew that it was risky, but I had to take a chance
I snuck back to the kitchen, not one sound did I make
Muffling my hysteria, waiting for him to wake
Our Labrador came inside and up the stairs he sped
I waited for the ruckus, as he jumped up on the bed
Then the old boy ripped one off and everything went quiet
If he found out what I’d done, there was sure to be a riot
I waited in the kitchen, to hear what he had to say
Knowing that if I smiled, it would give the game away
Slowly he came down the stairs, his face an ashen grey
Saying from now on, “I will listen to what you say”
“When I saw what was in my shorts, I thought that I had died”
“It took two fingers and a jar of Vaseline, to push it back inside”
The Poet’s Wife
27 November 2017
FILE PHOTO: Dili, East Timor, watching backyard cricket. Photo by Corporal Brian Hartigan.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
