Discovered in Poetry: Valentine with Squirrels
Valentine with Squirrels
by The Hag
"Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the swallow... I ask you!" Anson sank into his chair and gulped his first pint with the air of a man tried beyond endurance. "Shy as the fucking squirrel!"
"Eh?" Doyle regarded him with astonishment.
Anson sighed. "She's the nicest bird I ever met but this poetry lark - supposed to be reading it for some group she goes to and never leaves off rehearsing. Specially that bit. In the kitchen, in the bathroom - probably under her breath while we're shagging."
"Well, mate, if you can't get her mind off it in bed you'd better pass her along to someone who knows what they're doing," Murphy suggested.
"Ah," Doyle said sympathetically. "Does she write the stuff as well?"
Anson rolled his eyes. "Bits of paper all over the shop. What rhymes with 'ecstasy'? What rhymes with 'foreboding'? What rhymes with -- well, you get the idea. And that's not the worst of it."
Three pairs of eyes aglow with masculine schadenfreude fixed upon him.
"I'd absolutely love it," Anson falsetto'd, "if you could write me a tiny Valentine poem!"
When the laughter died down Murphy said: "Let's say it's your round and we'll put our heads together. Come on, Bodie, you know poetry."
"Knowing's one thing," Bodie protested. "What's her name, then - Sally, isn't it?"
"Right." Anson gathered the empty mugs. "I'll expect a sonnet by the time I get back, mind."
They looked blankly at one another.
"Sally in our Alley?" said Doyle tentatively. " 'Of all the girls that are so sweet...' What else rhymes with Sally?"
"Bally. Dally. O'Malley," Murphy started.
"Oh how I love to dally
"With pretty little Sally,
"She's right up my alley."
"Like being chained to a galley," said Doyle.
"Or stranded in Death Valley," Bodie offered.
"Well, what about Sal, then?" suggested Murphy.
Doyle began:
"Sal, oh, Sal,
"You're more than a pal,
"My favourite gal,
"Er -- "
"You give me grand mal." Bodie smirked triumphantly.
"We'll need some good malt for this job," Doyle informed the returning Anson.
"Payment on delivery. And approval," Anson said.
"Well, look," Bodie said, "if she's so keen on Love in the Valley - "
"What valley?" demanded Murphy.
"The fucking squirrel poem. She might like it if we could - hang on a minute." He extracted a notebook from his pocket and started to scribble.
"You are my squirrel, my only squirrel," crooned Murphy.
"Won't you let me get in your drey?"
Suddenly inspired, Doyle proclaimed:
"Alone with you in a valley
"I'd really love to be,
"I'd stay with you forever
"If you'd just swallow me." He grinned. "One Glenlivet, ta very much."
"Doyle - " Anson restrained himself. "Belt up before I belt you. Getting anywhere, Bodie?"
Bodie tore a sheet out of the notebook and slid it across.
Anson read:
"Oh love, do not be wayward,
"But say you'll always be
"As true to me as I to you
"For all eternity."
They stared at Bodie in silence for a moment, then Murphy said, "It's not bad, but it sounds like a proposal. You that serious, Anson?"
Anson shrugged. "Might be. Buggered if I know. Have to give it a ponder. Regular shop card's probably safer at this point. But thanks, Bodie."
"Glenmorangie for me, then," Bodie said smugly. He started to write again.
"What now?" Murphy asked.
"Anson's not the only one with a love life, you know. Come on, Anson, you've got your poem."
"Oh, all right. Murph?"
"Highland Park. Be grateful the Cow's not here." He headed for the gents while Anson returned to the bar.
"What's this love life about?" Doyle demanded. "Valentine for me?"
Bodie shrugged and passed him the notebook.
Shy as the chainsaw and wayward as the Uzi,
Tough as an army boot and deadly with a gun,
Swilling back his lager, slurping back a cuppa,
Leaping on his motorbike and off to do the ton.
Swift he is to anger, swift to dirty laughter,
Arse stuffed into trousers that cling like coated paint.
Drives me into frenzy, makes me bloody crazy,
Putting up with him would try the patience of a saint.
Doyle touched his hand briefly. "Want to get the paint off tonight, then?"
"Yeah. Always patient, aren't I?"
"Always...true..."
Their eyes met in a flicker of tenderness.
Anson set the tray on the table as Murphy returned.
"'And malt does more than Milton can,
"To justify God's ways to man,'" Bodie quoted.
"Not to mention squirrels," said Doyle.
[end]
Quotations:
George Meredith: Love in the Valley
A. E. Housman: A Shropshire Lad
Feb 2011
Title: Valentine with Squirrels
Author: The Hag
Slash or Gen: slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: yes
Words: 758
Disclaimer: The usual - not mine, no profit
by The Hag
"Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the swallow... I ask you!" Anson sank into his chair and gulped his first pint with the air of a man tried beyond endurance. "Shy as the fucking squirrel!"
"Eh?" Doyle regarded him with astonishment.
Anson sighed. "She's the nicest bird I ever met but this poetry lark - supposed to be reading it for some group she goes to and never leaves off rehearsing. Specially that bit. In the kitchen, in the bathroom - probably under her breath while we're shagging."
"Well, mate, if you can't get her mind off it in bed you'd better pass her along to someone who knows what they're doing," Murphy suggested.
"Ah," Doyle said sympathetically. "Does she write the stuff as well?"
Anson rolled his eyes. "Bits of paper all over the shop. What rhymes with 'ecstasy'? What rhymes with 'foreboding'? What rhymes with -- well, you get the idea. And that's not the worst of it."
Three pairs of eyes aglow with masculine schadenfreude fixed upon him.
"I'd absolutely love it," Anson falsetto'd, "if you could write me a tiny Valentine poem!"
When the laughter died down Murphy said: "Let's say it's your round and we'll put our heads together. Come on, Bodie, you know poetry."
"Knowing's one thing," Bodie protested. "What's her name, then - Sally, isn't it?"
"Right." Anson gathered the empty mugs. "I'll expect a sonnet by the time I get back, mind."
They looked blankly at one another.
"Sally in our Alley?" said Doyle tentatively. " 'Of all the girls that are so sweet...' What else rhymes with Sally?"
"Bally. Dally. O'Malley," Murphy started.
"Oh how I love to dally
"With pretty little Sally,
"She's right up my alley."
"Like being chained to a galley," said Doyle.
"Or stranded in Death Valley," Bodie offered.
"Well, what about Sal, then?" suggested Murphy.
Doyle began:
"Sal, oh, Sal,
"You're more than a pal,
"My favourite gal,
"Er -- "
"You give me grand mal." Bodie smirked triumphantly.
"We'll need some good malt for this job," Doyle informed the returning Anson.
"Payment on delivery. And approval," Anson said.
"Well, look," Bodie said, "if she's so keen on Love in the Valley - "
"What valley?" demanded Murphy.
"The fucking squirrel poem. She might like it if we could - hang on a minute." He extracted a notebook from his pocket and started to scribble.
"You are my squirrel, my only squirrel," crooned Murphy.
"Won't you let me get in your drey?"
Suddenly inspired, Doyle proclaimed:
"Alone with you in a valley
"I'd really love to be,
"I'd stay with you forever
"If you'd just swallow me." He grinned. "One Glenlivet, ta very much."
"Doyle - " Anson restrained himself. "Belt up before I belt you. Getting anywhere, Bodie?"
Bodie tore a sheet out of the notebook and slid it across.
Anson read:
"Oh love, do not be wayward,
"But say you'll always be
"As true to me as I to you
"For all eternity."
They stared at Bodie in silence for a moment, then Murphy said, "It's not bad, but it sounds like a proposal. You that serious, Anson?"
Anson shrugged. "Might be. Buggered if I know. Have to give it a ponder. Regular shop card's probably safer at this point. But thanks, Bodie."
"Glenmorangie for me, then," Bodie said smugly. He started to write again.
"What now?" Murphy asked.
"Anson's not the only one with a love life, you know. Come on, Anson, you've got your poem."
"Oh, all right. Murph?"
"Highland Park. Be grateful the Cow's not here." He headed for the gents while Anson returned to the bar.
"What's this love life about?" Doyle demanded. "Valentine for me?"
Bodie shrugged and passed him the notebook.
Shy as the chainsaw and wayward as the Uzi,
Tough as an army boot and deadly with a gun,
Swilling back his lager, slurping back a cuppa,
Leaping on his motorbike and off to do the ton.
Swift he is to anger, swift to dirty laughter,
Arse stuffed into trousers that cling like coated paint.
Drives me into frenzy, makes me bloody crazy,
Putting up with him would try the patience of a saint.
Doyle touched his hand briefly. "Want to get the paint off tonight, then?"
"Yeah. Always patient, aren't I?"
"Always...true..."
Their eyes met in a flicker of tenderness.
Anson set the tray on the table as Murphy returned.
"'And malt does more than Milton can,
"To justify God's ways to man,'" Bodie quoted.
"Not to mention squirrels," said Doyle.
[end]
Quotations:
George Meredith: Love in the Valley
A. E. Housman: A Shropshire Lad
Feb 2011
Title: Valentine with Squirrels
Author: The Hag
Slash or Gen: slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: yes
Words: 758
Disclaimer: The usual - not mine, no profit