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Poetry by Chris Clatworthy 

Chris lives and writes in Bedfordshire, UK.



© 2006  Chris Clatworthy




A Life More Ordinary


Looks a lot like you, doesn't she -

even that mole, by her left ear-lobe?

Must have wanted a clone of you the bastard

and when I met her in the pub

could have scratched her eyes out.

Wouldn't have done a scrap of good though

that's why I kept my cool.

Promised to love you in sickness and in health,

what a joke and so cruel,

the only one he loves is himself.

Fact is, he's still a little kid inside

acting out his Walter Mitty world

pretending everything's all right

even though you might die in a few months time.

Said he couldn't stand the stress

of not planning for the future --

didn't want to be alone or words to that effect.

That's why he shacked up with her

a sort of back-stop,  an understudy

ready groomed for the part

who'd jump straight in, fill your shoes

as and when required so to speak.


Today you find out you've been given a reprieve,

in remission as they call it and he's still stalling for time

suggests you all be friends

but then, he lives in a dream-world

and girl you'd best believe it - like hell you had.

You know you're mad, don't need me to tell you that

but what's the alternative, what choice is there to make

if you're insane enough to keep on loving him?

Doesn't deserve you, the prick!

Sorry about the language but it gets me going

just thinking of it -- all those nights he left you on your own

and went to shag her. Don't mean to nag though

best close the cupboard door,

put those pills back on the shelf.

Mirror's all steamed up now...

can't even talk to myself any more.




All work is property of Chris Clatworthy.




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