I told her I was a poet
then tried to show it
really she said
thinking of Peter Rabbit
she twisted her chain
in a knot, I could see
that Id put her
on the spot, a grown man
and fluffy things
I think she was glad
when I did my trick
and disappeared into
the party din, a quick change
and I was back dressed in black
charcoal stubble on my chin
straightoff I tell her
the Screwfix catalogue
is my favourite book
and she gives me a long look
sighs and eyelash swept me
ooooh she says as if
Id just shown her
the dead sea scrolls
but what all this goes to show
is that like the blackbird
and his strawfilled beak
a Phillips screwdriver
is all you need,
if you get intellectual
you'll only come across
as ineffectual
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem