David Lewis Paget

Silver Star - 3,409 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

She Who Knows All... - Poem by David Lewis Paget

My wife has a mind like a steel trap,
There’s nothing escapes her view,
It must be something that women share
When they say, ‘Here’s looking at you! ’
It’s not just meant as a friendly toast
But more of a warning shot,
Whatever you’ve done is filed away
Whether you want it or not!

You can call it gossip or call it chat,
You can call it scratch my itch,
Whenever they get together, the talk
Gets round to ‘that crazy bitch! ’
They can reel off generations of flaws
In a genealogical line,
And point out where the family trees
Inextricably intertwine.

‘That was Margaret Bloom’s old place
Before she married Ted Gray,
He’d dumped his wife and their seven kids
So he could go off and play.
When his wife went into the Nursing Home
Then Ted was filled with remorse,
He asked, was anything he could do,
Then the bastard shot her horse! ’

‘Was that the woman who…? ’ ‘Yes, she did!
She danced on the bar at noon,
Nobody thought she drank that much
‘Til that Easter afternoon.
She said it must have been chocolate frogs
As she’d never done it before,
Those ones that have the liqueurs in them,
But she’d only eaten four.’

‘I seem to recall…’ ‘Her sister, yes!
Now wasn’t she just a tramp!
She had it off with the postman, Harv,
And the one who carries the lamp! ’
‘You mean the…’ ‘No, not him, you fool,
He was as gay as a tent,
An all-in wrestler choked that one
On the very first day of Lent.’

‘Old Mrs. Mopps…’ ‘Yes wasn’t that sad,
She drowned in the water tank,
Trying to rescue her grandson’s boat,
He pushed her in as it sank.’
‘Not her, I meant…’ ‘Oh the other one,
The Mopps from Slimy Top?
The one that poisoned her husband with
The home-made sweets from her shop! ’

‘I thought…’ ‘ You don’t, you never observe
You men are as thick as a brick,
You didn’t pick up the cues when Jean
Went home with our candlestick.’
‘I didn’t think…’ ‘No you never do,
You leave it all up to God,
She went and set fire to her mother’s house,
May she rest in peace, poor sod! ’

‘I find it hard to believe…’ ‘You do,
You’ve never quite understood,
We live in a den of iniquity
In this general neighbourhood.
I saw that Betty, ogling you
In the bar last Friday night,
And I walked right up and I told her, too,
‘I know you’re flying a kite.’

‘She backed right off…’ ‘But I didn’t know,
It’s nothing to do with me! ’
‘Well don’t get any ideas, my lad,
I’m not going to set you free.’
We sat in the kitchen, me bemused,
I said, ‘That Betty’s a liar! ’
The wife just glowered, until I said:
‘The chicken’s just caught on fire! ’

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 20, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, April 23, 2013

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