Regression

By Pat Lawless


The first time around in my previous life

I was a daughter a woman and later a wife.

 

I was the type to do everything right

And treat my man as a king

Being proper I said No! when he fumbled below

Until he produced the gold ring.

I was called Nancy and had many a fancy

But eventually I married the Squire.

And on our wedding night, I relented the fight

Expecting the sounds of a choir.

Some honeymoon fume, me stuck in a room

And him in the pub getting full.

Me! The wife of a squire and calling him Sire

It turned out to be a crock of old bull.

 

He’d get up at dawn; by eight he’d be gone

The rest of the day I’d not see him.

He’d be riding the hunt, with language so blunt

Filled with rum and port to the brim.

I learned to just listen, keep the place spick and span

Say yes Sire, no Sire and maybe,

And now and again when he felt like a man

Hey Presto! Then I’d have me a baby.

So, the same thing every day as the years passed away

With time on my hands pushing forty

I again started reading, and often daydreaming

Mostly about things that were naughty.

 

Then I heard the kids say to their father one day

Mum seems to be going soft in the head.

She’s begun reading poetry, made her hair curly

And now she is dyeing it red.

She talks to the moon, she’s wearing perfume

And buying new cloths to wear

She’s plucking her brows, wearing a low cut blouse

So Dad you need to beware.

Well! The Squire, he agreed that there was a need

Of some men in white coats, he could tell.

And since he had a sick cow, who needed help anyhow

Sure a Vet will do equally well.

 

When the Vet he called out there was no one about

I thought, he’s kinda cute, bloody hell.

For once my husband was right, as the Vet set me alight

I found, yes, he could do equally well.

I was cheating but yet I carried on with the Vet

For the next twenty years or more.

And if the Squire knew, we didn’t argue

We just carried on as before.

 

In my previous life I was the wife

Of a Squire somewhere up near Kilkishen

And the moral of my poem,,,,,if your not getting it at home

Do something about it and stop just wishing.