Making Cocoa for Wendy Cope

Traveling homewards on the five fifteen,

Mr Fairclough dares, perchance, to dream

Of Croydon terrace, shirtsleeves rolled,

And kicking mud from scufféd

Gardening shoes.


Boiling milk and stirring potions,

Secret alchemies from ancient Aztec cocoa beans,

And mounting narrow floral-papered stairs,

Scenting the scents of bath oils, oriental musks,

A glimpse in steamy mirror,

Clothes strewn on the bedroom floor,

And there, in the matrimonial double bed

Lies Wendy,

Hair, damp and wisping round her head.

Pink nightie, carelessly askew,

Nylon lace in ripple after ripple,

Two orb-like breasts, a hint of rosebud nipple,

And Wendy.

Magnificent, beckoning on,

The cocoa cup forgotten as he…………

West CROYDON, this is West CROYDON,

Change here for Waddon, Wallington, Carshalton Beeches and Sutton.”

He sighs, smiles, and, reaching for Evening Standard,

Briefcase, brolly,

Begins  the nightly homeward trudge to Acacia Road,

Allotment, and his loving partner.  Dolly.

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Filed under comic verse, funny poem, humorous verse, whimsy

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