Poem – To an Ironing Board (2005)

To an Ironing Board

                 Nailed to a Bedroom Door


There are welts across the arses

Of the British upper classes

Then in France it launched a craze

Benamed “La Maladie Anglaise.”


All may crave this painful bliss: though

It helps to be aristo;

“Oh please, Sir Dukie, Duke, please,

Smack me just like the Marquise!”


Back and forth across the Channel

Pong and Ping the darling paddle

Raised her red retorts of pleasure

Forth and back in equal measure.


The wealthy Duke of Lauderdale

Does enjoy an unforced wail

From aproned maids, with wet red eyes

Who are ladies in disguise.


Our sublime poet of rack and wheel

Was clapt into the dread Bastille

Deprived of Light and Day

By a Lettre de Cachet


So, well-born and standing tall

Leaves a greater way to fall.

Duke and Marquesses fall down on

Knights, Viscounts, and Baron.


This little doggerel of decay, Brings us to the present Day

In this world of Bush the younger………. Hunger



                                             RR 2005