David Lewis Paget

(22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

House Proud!


I only wanted a quiet life
Was the first thought that I had,
When the woman beat on my cedar door,
I thought that she must be mad.
She beat and beat, and would not retreat
Though I begged her just to go,
But she cried, ‘He’s going to murder me,
You must let me in, I know! ’

I peered out through a crack in the door
Just to see the woman’s face,
Her lips were bloody, her eye was black
And the tears had left their trace,
I groaned I wouldn’t become involved
But knew in the end I would,
I opened the door and let her in,
Her hands were covered in blood.

‘Don’t drip that blood on the carpet! ’
She just turned to me with a shrug,
‘I’ve taken the carpet cleaner back
I borrowed to clean the rug! ’
Too late, too late, as she smeared the blood
All over my pristine wall,
‘Are you callous or just plain crazy?
He’ll be coming to kill us all! ’

‘Then why did you come to me, ’ I cried,
‘There’s a hundred doors out there,
Go pick on another married fool
With a life lived in despair.
I never fell for the gender trap
For it always ends like this,
A bottle of Jack with a drunken lout
Who had promised married bliss.’

I steered her into the bathroom, ran
The taps as I heard him roar,
‘Come out you blanketty wilful witch
Or I’ll have to beat down the door! ’
My cedar door with the frosted glass
That I only installed in June,
I heard a splinter, and then a crash
As he burst on into the room.

I pointed the shaft of the toilet brush
At him, from under a towel,
‘I’ve got a gun and I’ll use it! ’ But
All that he did was howl.
A bullet whistled on past my head
And shattered the shower screen,
‘I swear I’ll blow you to Kingdom Come
If you don’t come now, Doreen! ’

‘For God’s sake, give it a rest, ’ she said,
As she washed the blood away,
Wiped her hands on my nice clean towel
As I groaned in my dismay,
He put the gun in his pocket, dropped
His head and began to weep,
‘Is this the guy you’ve been seeing then? ’
‘What him? The guy is a creep! ’

‘He’s more concerned with his carpet
Than a lady in distress,
I’d rather you with your Looney Toons
Though you tend to make a mess.’
She walked on up and she kissed him
And they walked out hand in hand,
‘Who’s going to pay for the damage, then? ’
I called, but they had gone.

I never answer a beating door
No matter how long they knock,
I call out, ‘Sorry, I’m not at home, ’
As I click the fifteenth lock,
A beaten wife is a world of strife
For the man who intervenes,
The bodies may pile outside my door
But I keep my carpets clean.

14 February 2014

Submitted: Friday, February 14, 2014

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  • Rookie - 291 Points Cynthia Buhain-baello (3/2/2014 3:46:00 AM)

    Excellent David, and the scene painted by your words really brought out the laughs - brilliant write, flow, humor, and story. Great title too! +++++++10 (Report) Reply

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