Of Course I Love You

How can you doubt that I love you?
Didn't I marry you, eh?
And though I don't say it too often,
I show it in all sorts of ways.

I'd take you out dining and dancing...
Can you find me a mountain to climb?
An ocean to cross? A boulder to toss?
I'd do them if I had the time.

I'd give you the shirt off me back, love,
I'd give you me last pair of socks;
And last time we went into town, love,
Didn't I buy you a frock?

I let you go home nice and early,
So you have the time to cook tea;
Remember that sometimes on Sundays
I give you the afternoon free.

I tell you when you're being bitchy,
I notice when you're getting fat;
I give you free rein in my tool shed,
I let you wear my fav'rite hat.

So next time you're thinkin' of leaving,
Remember that I think yer great;
And though there are times when yer grumpy...
Fair dinkum, yer still me best mate.

Who else would I trust with the cheque book?
And who else knows just what I like?
And when there are paddocks to muster
Who else but you borrows my bike?

I'll eat humble pie if I have to,
I'll say that I've been a right jerk,
I'll tell you I love you; I've done it: okay?
Now bloody-well come back to work.

Copyright; Janine Haig

FIFTY SOMETHING

“Do you know...what day it is?”
“Nope”...said my beau. “What's today?”
“Well! If you can't remember”, I cried
“I'm not gonna say.
Well aren't you gonna ask me?”
I insisted with a few tears.
“Alright”, he said...”you're fifty today...
and you have been for three or four years”.

That wasn't what I wanted to hear.
Just a few...simple birthday wishes,
a romantic night...a bottle of wine
and someone to do the dishes.
Instead...like a mature plucked Cinderella
with mascara blurred...eyes
my Prince Charming declares he's swapping
my fifty for two twenty fives.

He'll have a problem handling two;
his belly hangs below his belt.
He said my boobs were no better
like saddle bags...last time he felt.
See...they fall underneath me arms.
He knelt on 'em once and they spread.
Reckoned he was leaning forward
to switch on the light overhead.

He can't do things...like he used to
gets short winded and very abrupt.
When we were young...he worked all night
now he's all night...working it up.
Mind you...I don't give him a lot of help
like I did when I was young.
The elasticity has left my vital parts
you could say...spring has sprung.

We try to get together...
was recommended a book called "Fore Play"
wasn't a crossword or card game in it,
and the pictures were worn away.
I looked at myself in the mirror
perhaps the problem lies with me.
Surely the body doesn't fall apart...
...life begins at fifty.

I need to recharge by batteries,
get rid of my facial hair,
buy new underwire bras,
make 'em look like a pair.
My beau used a whipper snipper on my face,
“I'll trim it”...he said...”it won't pull”.
So I laid on the floor with his foot on my neck,
it started...then ran out of fuel.
Just as well...it went berserk,
desexed our neighbour’s cat.
I said...”Whatever you do...don't mention it...
when you give 'em the snipper back.”

I've been going to the gym lately,
I wear the correct gear...
you know...leotards with that skinny strap
on the strategic part of your rear.
No-one told me to wear tights as well
as I sat on the rowing machine.
Imagine how I felt...when a man pulled it out,
thank goodness it came out clean.
I'm preparing my body and keeping fit,
you know age is a state of mind too,
don't ask me what state I'm in,
let's just say...’Thirty Two.’

Copyright; Shirley Friend
From her book 'Another Dose From Floozie'

Ringo Blues

He's bought himself a set of drums -
Seems that's the latest fad
For them with teenage craniums
Just to annoy their Dad.
So now it's straight into his room
When he gets home from school:
A raucous thunderous sonic boom -
Could make die dead rise from die tomb
...And those alive to fear their doom -
A racket dial is cruel;
An audio nightmare of gloom
As decibels and senses zoom,
My ears and I can now assume...
That Ringo's on his stool.

As drums resound and cymbals crash,
The airwaves saturate;
Bush poetry's a culture clash -
He says I'm out of date.
His hair is fifteen shades of blue...
He only wears what's cool...
He bangs away the evening through...
He says I wouldn't have a clue...
But oh!! that noise!! I'm tellin' you...
When Ringo's on his stool!!

With peace and quiet vanished now
From in our neighborhood,
I get no more milk from the cow,
The dog's left home for good,
The chooks have all stopped layin' eggs,
The goldfish left his pool,
The cat has even found his legs,
My home-made beer has turned to dregs.
Is that a tune ? - the question begs...
When Ringo's on his stool.

The ducks from on the billabong
Have all flown south for Spring;
No more we hear the magpie's song -
He's lost his urge to sing.
T.V.'s a relic of the past -
Those drums win every duel;
Not even ghetto-blasters blast
As loud or even half as fast...
While ear-drums flutter at half mast...
When Ringo's on his stool.

The Flick man has no need to call -
Our cockroaches have gone;
The termites that live in the wall -
They too are moving on.
It could well drive a man to drink...
But who am I to fool ?
I have already crossed that brink -
I cannot hear myself to think -
And oh...this week, his hair is pink...
That's Ringo on his stool.

So I thought I would be the bird
And grow myself some wings,
Until today...! got the word
That somehow changes things.
The music shop is on the phone:
This afternoon it comes -
An instrument that's all my own -
He need no longer play alone -
We'll form a band that's all home-grown
I'm flexing up my gums;
Though I'm tone-deaf as any stone,
I'll join the raucous monotone -
Me playing my new saxophone...
While Ringo...plays his drums.

Copyright; Graham Fredriksen
From his book 'Paradise Revisited'