The Comfort Of These Pants


Oh, knickerless woman on a saddleless bike
The smile on your face tells me just what you like.
I watch you each day as you enjoy your treat,
A long freewheel ride down the main cobbled street.

You smile at the baker, his dough promptly rises.
The postman's large packet contains no surprises.
The butcher goes indoors - he must beat his meat
The coal man knows just what to stoke to make heat.

And off for his lunch, you wave at the banker
Who'll cry "Mine's a large one" at the Crown And Anchor.
The milkman looks happy, see how his face beams.
He knows the best place to deliver his creams.

The fireman's hand is grasped tight round his pole
He knows his large chopper can bang any hole.
His helmet is hard as his hose starts to squirt.
Could he have guessed what goes on 'neath your skirt?

Oh panti-free lady, you do not feel shame,
For in your small world these men don't know your game.
But under the drain is where I get my thrill.
I work in the sewers, and can see through the grill.

And I've told them all, who work in this street
The newspaper boy, PC Plod on his beat
They all know your secret, but only I see,
And each day the drains take ten extra c.c.



Goosey goosey gander
Fatter than a panda
The size of your liver
Would make most people quiver
So eat your grain with force
So that for my first course
I can have a fine paté
Instead of boring chicken satay.


Oh, small piece of toilet paper clinging to my bum hairs
Knowing that beyond the comfort of these pants no one cares.
You didn't want to wipe my poos
Or join your fellow stained tissues
So I respect your urge to choose
To come with me downstairs.

And though you cannot do a thing to help enrich my life
You brought a little morsel of amusement to my wife
Without whom I'd have never known,
Your cover would not have been blown.
Now, I've discovered that I'm prone
To this peculiar strife.

But soon, alas, your bum hair clinging days will reach their end
For next time I extrude a turd I shall lose you my friend
With savage wipes you will be cleared
And torn free from my anal beard
With stinking shit you will be smeared
And flushed around the bend.

Oh, tiny piece of tissue, I'm aware this isn't clever
But, can I truly let this special link we have be severed?
I just can't bear to see you perish,
I'll pluck you free, to love and cherish,
I'll dress you up in clothes so garish
And care for you forever.

Mrs Arse

Mrs Arse
Was upper class
But had a real crap name.
She changed it once
To Ffrothing-Kuntz,
But it wasn't quite the same.

Mr Prick
Got rather sick
One night after felching his chum
His big mistake
Was the Battenburg cake
He'd rammed up his partner's bum.

Mr Prick

Mr Prick
Got rather sick
One night after felching his chum
His big mistake
Was the Battenburg cake
He'd rammed up his partner's bum.

I was going to write a whole suite of these poems but then I thought maybe I was just being juvenile.
July - September 2000

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