I’m Sorry, it’s a poem.

I wrote this twenty years ago, and rediscovered it tonight whilst looking for something else. I’ve had a bottle of wine so my judgement may be off, but it can’t do any harm.

                                     Never Mind the Drive

We’d been shopping at Tescos on Friday night, and on the way home with the stuff

We got cut up by a guy on a bike and my God did he look rough

He wore  raggy assed jeans and a teeshirt, his face was all pockmarked and gnarly

His teeshirt said Honk if you want to see a gun fired from a moving Harley

So just to save face I gave him a honk, though saying that, I must have been joking

As he turned and shot the windscreen out and on my front teeth I am now choking.

The bullet glanced off of my teeth and off the door I heard it crack

Then it passed quite harmlessly through the wife’s mother in the back

When we got home we unpacked the stuff, bread, toilet rolls and that,

some bottles of beer and cheese and stuff and biscuits for the cat

I went in the house and poured out a drink, and my wife looked at me right queer

She started to speak but couldn’t find the words and in the corner of her eye was a tear

She said my mother’s bleeding all over the drive, she should be in a hospital bed

I said don’t worry love about the drive

There’s a pressure washer in the shed.

ian.