Jack Growden

Rookie - 271 Points (1997 / Townsville, Australia)



He's awake at first light
After a salacious night
Of desperate disloyal lust…
With a lay-down misère
He takes his share
And stalks off in bitter disgust…
The neon lights of downtown
Oh the slipping of her gown:
All are flashes through his mind.
Her curves so smooth and sweet
Gave an offer too neat,
Though he really should have declined…


Nigel was a middle-aged man
With the average sedan
And children to a big-note wife.
He had more than most
But little to boast
In his dull nine-to-five life.
When he finally snapped
Over being so trapped
In his wife's domineering spell,
He broke through the chains
And dispelled the restrains
Before heading off to raise some hell!
Though his memory was mere
He can recall quite clear
The first few hours of his plight:
At a casino or two
He bidded adieu
To the many dollars with which he'd been so tight.
It took him the barest of time
To blow every penny and dime
That he'd earned over the past few years.
Each nickel and cent
Was gleefully spent
On a sea of lagers and beers…

When it all had been lost
At an appalling cost
He stumbled towards the bar.
Though his speech was slurred
And his vision quite blurred,
He spotted a blonde well above par.
Her European thighs
Caught his eyes
So he swooped in for the kill.
Many years had passed
Since he'd felt it last:
This naughty, flirtatious thrill.
Though far from sleek
He was by no means meek
And was quick to ask for her name.
She responded with a grin
Which was riddled with sin
And so began their flame…
Captured by her 'charm'
He took her by the arm
As they raced upstairs instead.
Their journey was succinct
And before he blinked
They were lying together in bed…

Without a thought of his oppressor
He proceeded to undress her
And her body did well to amaze.
She was twenty years his youth
So to tell one the truth
The rest of his night is a total daze…


Laying on the couch
In a hungover slouch
Nigel is in a mess, pondering his thoughts.
He sat there for an hour
The mood ever sour
When he glanced down at his quartz.
It's twenty to nine:
Time to get back in line
And head off to dreary work.
Time to walk the same floors
And get through his chores
That for one night he'd managed to shirk.

It struck him how soon he had reached the age,
At which he was trapped in his wife's nightmarish cage
For a single night he'd felt youth again,
Before being leeched back up on the short choker chain...

Submitted: Thursday, March 21, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 23, 2013

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Copyright Jack Growden (2013)

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