Another manky Lovejoy poem

I’ve been spending a lot of time/ loafing instead of making rhyme/ Hours of "Lovejoy" at a stretch/ Turn me into a lazy wretch/ – / The house it really needs cleaning/ Drudgery has lost its meaning/ Garden-weeds are overtaking/ and housewifery forsaking/ – / As for The Div, he makes me weak/ Down round the knees, so to speak/ Those jade-green eyes plumb deep in me/ They know what others never see/ – / I love when he fobs off Old Bill/ Contumaciously, what a thrill/ Not a pickle he can’t elude/ Lovejoy he is one savvy dude/ – / His jet-black curls I long to feel/ In another realm, so-not real/ His arm round me wouldn’t be bad/ His rep: making waist-places glad/ – / Back I go to the drudgery/ The rancid housework awaits me/ And weeds in the garden beyond/ If Lovejoy calls me — foosh! I’m gone.

About Mary Borchard

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