Poem
They were always meant to be together.
She was a Pisces
And he liked fish and chips.
She was a vet
And he looked a bit like a pug.
I love you to the moon and back, he said,
Which varies depending on its orbit.
He said it with a twinkle in his eye.
Which he was due to see the optician about.
He said, I am an artist,
A visionary,
The brush sings in my hand.
She said, great,
I need the bathroom painting.
He was a locksmith.
She held the key to his heart.
The other was left with a neighbour.
Let’s make sweet music, she said,
And they wrote a song about Haribo.
They had such similar interests.
He read War and Peace
And she posted a lot on Twitter,
Both have 280 characters.
And each night they’d go home
And Netflix binge on the weather forecast.
She’d had such a sad life.
Times were hard growing up.
Food was scarce.
They had to eat the cat.
Cook a curry,
At least they knew it was
Made from Scratch.
I’ll provide for you, he said,
They give you free food in McDonald’s
If you wear a deliveroo uniform.
He’d lie awake at night wondering
If anyone’s ever had to give
A trigger warning for a spoiler alert.
And why the song
Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover
Only mentions about six.
And why it’s called instant coffee
When you’ve still got to boil the kettle.
She’d practice yoga,
Holding her legs at ninety degrees.
He’d sigh and say,
Heaven must be missing an angle.
She took him to an exercise class.
He wore a fake beard and
An eyepatch and a parrot.
No, she said,
It’s Pilates.
She said, I’ve always been an optimist.
He said, so’s my sister, she works
At spec savers.
One day they went on a picnic.
He hired a plane and
One of the best pilots
But a terrible speller.
It wrote in the sky,
Will You Mary Me?
She hired a hot air balloon
And painted on the side, Yes!
He hired a plane to pull a banner
Which read, Fantastic!
She hired a hundred drones to spell out the words,
Well, that’s settled then.
He hired a flock of pigeons
To spell out,
What’s for dinner?
Soup, she said.
They were always meant to be together.
That night he said to her,
The world is our oyster.
And she went into anaphylactic shock
Robert Garnham 