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Ruth Walters

(London, U.K.)

Two poems about a break up.....

No one left,1 heart for sale.

The house – is gutted, not me
you ripped out my heart,
and your clock’s stopped,
it’s broken.

The fridge freezer,
has ceased purring
and the cooker works
but the tumble dryer’s naff.

They seemed to get on well,
seemed to gel
which was more than we did.

You left me those lamps
in your bedroom, thanks
but no shades,
so I’m ditching them -

And where’s my swing bin?
You even took my swing bin.
I can’t believe it!
You swine.

Wasn’t it enough
that you’d stole
the T.V.? Now
I’ve nothing to watch.

And why did you leave
both the kettles
and two toasters?

I know they don’t
turn off automatically
like you used to
but hey!

You lazy sod -
and you couldn’t
even manage
to fix them.

Oh and by the way,
your Muscovy drake
is pining for you,
don’t you care?

He sleeps by my bed
every night now
but I’m re homing him
because of the fleas.

Once bitten, twice shy
as they say
Don’t come crawling

We’re finished, you and me
and the Duvet
was the wrong size

Dear Fionnula,

So you’re going to leave me to rot?
You probably think I’m all bad
and your selling my stuff and my duck,
that’s too cruel and heartless and sad.

What’s my duck ever done to you, eh?
Please don’t let him end up in a stew.
Hattie was o.k. to serve up that way,
but what's that duck ever done to you!

I’ve bought a new kettle & toaster
The kettle’s in plastic not metal
I’ve had to downsize, hey no surprise
and I’m cold, but don’t let that upset you.

I know I did things that were wrong
but most were your fault for not caring.
I’m a sensitive man, I do what I can
and your mother was so domineering.

Please don’t sell my Muscovy Duck
or give him a plucking or cook him
I’ll be round later on with his fodder,
the shades, and my ladder and swing bin.

I’ll fix the old toaster and kettle,
That kitchen could do with some paint,
you know you can’t manage without me
Oh God I feel bad, I might faint......

Submitted: Thursday, May 09, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 17, 2013

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These poems are purely fictitious.......

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