Peter Kirkpatrick

The Bad News

In all the years since we first met
it hasn’t twigged that I’m no catch?
You haven’t heard the bad news yet.

As Romeo to your Juliet
I’m hardly an alluring match.
In all the years since we first met

my silk has turned to flannelette,
my floating hair to thinning thatch.
You haven’t heard the bad news, yet

there must be times when you regret
those itches that you didn’t scratch
in all the years since we first met

— like when I fumble or forget
the key that lifts your lovely latch.
You haven’t heard the bad news — yet

I rarely feel much cause to fret:
against my heart’s great purple patch
in all the years since we first met,

instead of edit, you write stet,
and buy my stories by the batch.
You haven’t heard the bad news yet;

for if you did then what’s the bet
I’d scoop your copy in a snatch?
In all the years since we first met
you haven’t heard the bad news. Yet.