This poem is part of a longer one I wrote for my mum’s 70th birthday. The crossword clues are from the London Times, 5 August 1949.
In an incandescent corridor
perched on a folding chair
Ron Tippett’s ink-stained fingers
rake through crinkly brylcreamed hair
All there is for him to look at
is a worn No Smoking sign
a desiccated cheese plant
and a dog-eared London Times.
The crossword might distract him
from the cacaphonic noise
“They do not pay for seats in stalls”
That’s easy: CHOIR BOYS
“Their business is a blooming sell”
could FLORISTS be the word?
and “Stymie on the table”
must be SNOOKER – that’s his third!
“Venus de Milo does not need it”
(two words, five and four)
Could it be WRIST WATCH? No, too long.
BOARD GAME?
APPLE CORE?
She doesn’t need a SPACE SUIT cos she won’t be blasting off
and she doesn’t need a COUGH DROP cos she hasn’t got a cough
You could try her on a PEACE PIPE but the Louvre says No Smoking
and she has no use for STEEL WOOL – she leaves her pans a-soaking.
“Venus de Milo does not need it”
(Two words, five and four).
That clue is really nagging him
He’ll have to think some more.
Venus doesn’t need a CHECK BOOK cos she’s got no way of cashing ‘em
She lives in dread of ITCHY FEET – she’s got no way of scratching ‘em.
No AGONY AUNT can help her, she’s a hypergloomy Gus,
and she doesn’t need a GRAVY BOAT, cos honestly, who does?
Our Venus needs no VOICE MAIL to keep track of any messages
It’s hard to set a MOUSE TRAP without brachial appendages
She doesn’t need a WEDGE HEEL – it would make her feel unsteady
And she doesn’t need a POKER FACE, she’s wearing one already.
She doesn’t need a LIGHT BULB cos she wouldn’t reach the switch
And she doesn’t need a DRESS RACK cos she never wears a stitch
She doesn’t need a TRAIN FARE cos she’s got no place to go
and she doesn’t need a SLIDE RULE (she’s got a Macbook Pro).
KOALA? PANDA? GUMMI BEAR? She’s just not into bears.
And she doesn’t need a STAIR LIFT for she’s not allowed upstairs.
PHONE BOOK? CHILD CARE? DEBIT CARD? Perhaps a FUNNY BONE?
You really don’t need much when you’re a goddess made of stone.
“Ronald!”
Someone’s calling him! It’s time to sally forth
and The Times is now discarded on the disinfected floor.
Those Barratt boots are galloping towards the sunlit ward
Moving fast as Water Biscuit on a firm dry summer course.
And there’s his wife! And there’s the nurse! And there’s the tiny cot!
Well, well, well (as camels say), what a perfect girl they’ve got!
Oh my, thinks Ron, she hasn’t got much ELBOW ROOM in there…
then suddenly he laughs out loud and leaps into the air!
