Those of you who were here last time

Will remember Grace’s hilarious rhyme

About burping in the ear of a man on the train.

For those who weren’t here, let me briefly explain

He represented for her the patriarchy

She felt he deserved her bilious anarchy

She was pregnant, hormonal; she followed him home

And, in the grip of some strange syndrome

She squatted in the well-kept garden of the stranger

And pissed all over his prize hydrangea

Well, here’s a response, from the victim’s position

Imagine I’m the bloke who received her bodily emissions

Think of this as a poetic answer back

A bit like a rap battle, but with a month between attacks

***

I don’t know why she picked on me

I was innocently commuting

I’m a regular City employee

Nothin’ highfalutin

I was deeply immersed in that day’s FT

On the London Underground

When suddenly she sidled up to me

And belched, with a vile smell and sound

I looked surreptitiously round and found

She was well in the family way

I tutted and scowled, but she held her ground

She wasn’t going away

She disembarked at Ealing

Same as me; I soon had the feeling

That she was following me

I increased my pace

It turned into a race

I was glad to get home and turn the key

Hi kids, I’m home. How was school?

There’s a letter for you. From Mummy. We read it. She’s leaving you.

Life is cruel.

It was true.

She was taking refuge

With her sister Sue

That evening

In Chevening.

Dad, there’s a lady going to the toilet in our garden!

I beg your pardon?

Look out the window!

She’s going to go!

Sure enough, the burping mother to be

Was squatting in our flower bed, having a pee

Do you know who she is? 

Why’s she having a wizz?

Sorry kids, I couldn’t escape her

Why don’t you take her some toilet paper?

The expectant one expectorated

Right across the drive

With snot our car she decorated

All down the passenger side.

Dad! I can see her pants!

Never mind. The urine is great for the plants.

 

Dad, what are you going to do?

Nothing. Unless she has a poo, too.

The kids told their Mum

That I’d brought home a bum

Who I’d probably impregnated;

My wife, you can guess, was less than impressed

And our marriage is now terminated.