Carry On up the Sit-Com, Benny.
Painted lips leer like a fecund baboon’s labia
and breasts give cleavage saying take me,
take me from behind . She leans across the desk
defies me to look her in the eye. Biscuit?
she says and I’ll be mother. Milk? Sugar?
One lump or two? Mind the drips. Clumsy me;
almost in your lap there. Have another one,
go one, plenty more where these came from.
I like a man who likes his food, I’m not being rude
but are you sporty? My ex husband always said,
god rest his soul, that what’s the point of getting old
if you can’t enjoy the ride. Now, go on; you need
to keep your strength up: custard cream or hobnob?
Now, what was it made you apply for the job?
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