MRS TOADSBODY'S ART. (STRONG LANGUAGE)

[dadio]

The art of conversation is dead said
Mrs Toadsbody no one talks much
Anymore although she did her best
To keep the art form alive and kicking

And fit for purpose and had neighbours
Around to play cards or knit and gossip
Pulling and cutting other neighbours
To bits with the sharp knives of their

Tongues. She had a cute hand at poker
And could knit and talk and drink and
Smoke and not drop a stitch or miss a
Chance to blow a hole in anyone’s hard

Won cheap philosophy. She saw her
Husband at the breakfast table after his
Nightshift on his way to bed and spent
Most of that time telling him what lousy

Bum he was and sharply insinuating he
Was having it off with one of the whores
Whom he worked with and would say it
Loudly and spitting pieces of toast as she

Did so you’ve been fucking her for years
Don’t give me that I wouldn’t look at her
Twice shit I know you Henry you couldn’t
Resist a young chick’s ass for all the coffee

In Brazil. The art of conversation is dead
Mrs Toadsbody often said people have
Lost that knack they’d rather watch TV
Or go the movies or sit fucked drunk in

A bar sipping their long drinks watching
Their lives seep into the hours of sunset.
Mr Toadsbody enjoyed his sleep and often
Dreamt his wife had lost her voice and

Could only move her lips in silent mouthing
Of words like in the old movies and he would
Turn over and hug his pillow slipping into the
Deep softness of the mattress’s meadow.