(after Horace Epode XIV, Mollis inertia)
Beats me; I seem to be as soft as muck lately;
some bloody union man who can’t win a rise!
I try, but you don’t help, with your nagging;
telling me how they’ve nothing to spend in your shop.
I must be in love, Mrs. L.
You’d know about that; but guess who I’m stuck on?
bloody Chapel Street tart!
Despite trying to give her the elbow
I can’t get her off my mind;
reading my Aggie’s slushy love books – Me!
of all people.
No wonder I can’t concentrate on upping their wages;
too busy writing soppy notes.
Never quite saw myself as a soft-arsed poet.
She’s made me lose the plot completely.