Undercover,
I rehearse the lines
that will take me to the stage;
character assassination
is not my thing,
but under the duvet
I will know
if it is Christmas
or not.
Undercover,
I rehearse the lines
that will take me to the stage;
character assassination
is not my thing,
but under the duvet
I will know
if it is Christmas
or not.
There was an old woman who did,
though what she did she always kept hid,
she brushed under carpets,
bought fruit at fruit markets,
and she’d polish the bedsheets, God forbid.
Some more on this woman who did;
she secretly kept some things hid;
she was a spy for the Russians,
kept house for the Prussians;
she walked a thin line, yes, she did.
Furthermore, about this woman who did;
she was caught out when trying to bid
for some documents old,
that she wanted to hold
and pass to her contact, Leonid.
Finally, on this woman who did;
she was caught by a man in Madrid;
he was a double, you know
agent So-and-So-So;
who went by the code name of Syd.
There’s a man lives down our road
He stands in his garden
Looking into our window
Our ‘bathroom’ window
At my beloved (not a euphemism or a euphonium) in her birthday suit.
We wave at him
And he goes away
And then he comes back
Another day
He is a character
In a play
His name is…
Unimportant
Or impotent
He’s due back soon
He’s imminent!
Perhaps I will have to stand there and admire his viewpoint.