St. Valentine’s Day Massacre

I’d given quite a bit of thought
To what I had gone out and bought.
I’d pondered hard and pondered long,
In case, once more, I’d get it wrong,
Though frankly, as I must admit,
I don’t like Valentines one bit.

What to get my darling spouse
Who rears my kids and cleans my house,
Who sweeps the yard, brings in the coal,
Who wakes me up to get the dole,
Who washes, irons, cleans and cooks,
And balances our meagre books?
For every year, she gives short shrift
To what I offer as a gift.

Dear list’ner, I am sure that you’ll
Concur I’m no romantic fool.
When God was dishing out romance,
I didn’t rate a second glance.
Not for me the gift of love
Bestowed by Cupid from above,
For I won’t waste good money on
Some trifle that will soon be gone.

Twelve red roses? No, not I!!
In two short days, they’d curl and die.
For surely it would be quite rash
To thus dispense my hard-earned cash?

Chocolates, too, would be a waste,
Although she does enjoy the taste,
But I’ve already told her that
Her bum’s already far too fat.

And, as for sexy underwear?
I think I’d rather not go there!
My obese wife, attired thus,
Would frankly look ridiculous.

And yes, I know she’d dearly want
A meal in some flash restaurant.
But sadly, and its such a pity,
She married me, not Walter Mitty.

So every year, with sense and thrift,
I strive to buy the perfect gift.
And trudge around department stores,
Avoiding flowers and satin drawers.
Not for me those fatt’ning chocs –
I think outside the (chocolate) box.

And then, when in a hardware shop,
It brought me to a sudden stop.
All alone, upon a hook,
It warranted a second look.
The perfect present? Yes! And thank
The Lord it wouldn’t break the bank!
What better gift could there be than
A sturdy-handled frying pan?
Big and black, with teflon coat,
It was a frying pan of note,
Far better than the one at home,
A heap of twisted, blackened chrome,
That burnt the eggs and stuck like glue,
And charred the pudding through and through.
No, this would be ideal for makin’
Runny eggs and sizzling bacon.

I didn’t need to ponder twice,
But snapped it up at knockdown price.
My wife would surely love the man
Who bought her such a frying pan.

My Lord, may I approach the bench,
About this most ungrateful wench,
Who used this Valentine’s Day gift
To give my head a massive lift?
I know her churlish attitude
Appears discourteous and rude,
And as you view my bandaged head,
And ruminate on what I’ve said,
I know you’re itching to impose
A lengthy sentence, I suppose.

But with God’s mercy, I submit
You temper punishment a bit.
Her crime, though heinous, might, in fact,
Just warrant the Probation Act.
Besides, I think its clear that I
Deserve a most substantial fry.