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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #2032812
Tale of events
The three of them were creeping through the dark

While trying not to set the dogs to bark

Their night of drinking had been for a lark

From alcohol they’d gained a brighter spark

‘My Mary’s sure to hit the bleeding roof’

‘And my wife’s got a good aim with her hoof

‘Don’t worry, lads, you keep your heads aloof

I’ve got your back there’s no fear of reproof 

With muffled giggles floating in the air

The jokes they told had taken on new flair

But came the time for climbing up the stair

And three men then reduced to just a pair

Now Alan found it hard to place his feet

And couldn’t get his key and lock to meet

Afraid his wife would soon come out to greet

He urged his friend back down into the street

When finally he gained entry inside

He tripped and fell right down on his backside

The bottle he had carried for a ride

Was shattered into parts of his thick hide

Hip pocket torn, and seeing all the blood

Alan tried to stem the reddened flood

Removed his trousers, feeling like a dud

Stuck sticking plaster all across the crud

And so to bed to slumber through the night

But morning came and things they just weren’t right

His wife came in and woke him all a-fright

And bade him ‘come and look at this here sight’

So Alan rose and followed feeling meek

Displeasure radiating from Monique

At bathroom door she had him take a peek

His eyes sought focus on a sight oblique

‘What’s that?’ she cried, her voice in shrill demand

She moved aside and pointed with her hand

And all at once he got to understand

Her reason for implying reprimand

His hand crept slowly down onto his bum

Not knowing how to void this con-undrum

While Alan wondered what was next to come

Felt wheels inside his head begin to hum

‘My darling I have need here to explain

I took a fall and felt in so much pain

On bottle in my pocket I had lain

And thinking was befuddled in my brain

Excuse me dear, for here I must sound crass

Was bleeding quite profusely from my ass

I tried to see the damage in the glass

I fear I missed my target, darling lass’

‘That mirror bears the brunt of all my sin

By then my head was really in a spin’

His humble words now rumbled from within

‘Those band-aids there, should be against my skin’

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