for those who have eyes’ let them hear!
THE FORK BY THE ROAD
it was all alone when there it lay,
unremarked by all and sundry on a lovely sunny day.
just a picnic fork on a plastic tray.
cast aside, nonchalantly I suppose,
by a greedy, sated, bloated nobleman one of those
rich wayside revellers who chose
to quaff Champagne, kept cold on ice
by his ageing, faithful, travelling butler, on whose advice
they had already met there to dally; twice.
she, versed in the art of coquetry not amour,
and hoping to seduce him, through her fake passion once more
and so gain his wealth by pretending to adore
his bold masculine charm, his figure and his face
lauding his charismatic, haunting looks and aristocratic grace.
why else would they keep a tryst in such a place?
poor lass, his secret was well hidden from her mind
she had no idea he was a vile philanderer, a Don Juan so unkind
who wished only to enjoy ravishing his new ‘find’.
like the fork in the road, though without any tray,
on the grass verge, by a little copse, they most immoderately lay
he taking his pleasure ; she hoping ultimately he’d pay
for the rest of her days, and for all that she might need
while he never even thought, perhaps he might plant a seed
that would flourish soon in her and not satisfy her greed.
thus the harsh moral of my story, it is amoral after all,
is never picnic by a road, with a butler watching, or you’ll fall
for a vile lecher who will leave you with what you call
its father, when he reduces you to total destitution
unable to afford a fork to perform on him the type of execution,
you daily contemplate in your sad state of prostitution.