Strap hanging
on Dublin’s DART
as it comes around
the bay of Bray
supposed to be
a facsimile
of
Napoli.
A couple
(as Dublin as can be)
slug it out
in the prize
ring of Love
the
big
BIG
FIGHT!
She accuses him
of sleeping with her best friend
Mary Ann.
It’s below the belt but
he retaliates with
he only did it
‘cos she had slept with
his best mate
Mike.
Hello...?
She says she only
fucked him
she didn’t sleep
with him.
Ouch! She‘s ahead now
on points.
The names of
who
had slept
with f***ing who
becomes
a litany
a veritable
who’s who
of who to do.
Like...is there
no one these fuckwits haven’t
slept/f***ed with?
It seems she’s a shit
but he’s a shite.
The whole carriage
clings as we
slowly go around the bend
& the bay blossoms
into view
their every word.
Our minds
a ping pong ball
in the last &
furious final set.
And just when
we’re all of the opinion
that they will
throw in the towel
kill each other
& call it quits
he suddenly
blurts out:
”Are ya me mot...
...or wot! ”
And she
all snivels & snot
contrite
shouts out:
”I’m your mot! ”
“I’m your mot! ”
And they kiss
&
make unbelievably up.
It’s a knockout!
Love wins.
I get off at the next stop.
* Mot is the Dublin slang for girlfriend. Should be said with the glottal stopped!
:) Happy end? I like it :) Funny light piece, though the theme could be painful :) . Here there are no victims and no adulterers, actually it is kind of a funny dialectic in dialect somewhere in Dublin :)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You know, of course, how I feel about the wording of this, but not to worry, it will probably be deleted anyhow, but that being said, is this life, or Wot? At fullest volumn, of course, and on the bus, no less...or wot? ? Funny one.