Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Fifty Shades of Fucking Grey.

‘So, what do you say?’
She hears him say.

‘To a roll in the hay?’
She hears him say.

He’s after some sex.
She peers over her specs.

‘I’m trying to read.’

‘But I have needs.’

She rolls her eyes
At his sulky sighs.

‘So, what do you say?’
She hears him say.

‘I’m reading Fifty Shades of Grey.’

‘But isn’t that book very rude?
Shouldn’t it get you in the mood?’

‘Alas, rather sadly,
It’s written quite badly.’

He takes out his copy of Readers Wives.
Her natural instinct is to chastise.

But she continues to read her book,
Of faux erotic mindless muck.

The quilt moves direction
With his giddy erection.

He’s a visual man,
Her husband, Stan.

When had she last touched the old fella?
Before beginning this best-seller.

She’s had enough of Mr. Grey,
He’s not that sexy anyway.

She throws the book off the bed,
Now unloved and half unread.

At least her Stan is real.
Perhaps they can cut a deal?

She’ll admit she’s in the wrong,
If he’ll do that thing with his tongue.

She remembers when she had a voice
To use for loud orgasmic noise.

She would like to remove her frown
And scream the bloody house right down.

‘So, what do you say?’
He hears her say.

‘To a roll in the hay?’
He hears her say.

‘Bloody hell, it’s about time too,
I think my balls are turning blue.’

She pulls out his best gimp mask.
‘Marjorie, I thought you’d never ask.’