A candid tale of 20-something humanness and extended note to self.

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

Marmite addict. Poetry addict. Couldn't resist...



I laid upon my satin sheets,
And opened my marmite jar,
I spooned the brown stuff out of it,
And spread it on like tar.

It covered those white naughty bits,
That the sun had failed to tan,
I sprawled across my satin sheets,
And waited for my man.

He strolled in an hour later,
And asked, 'what is this mess?!'
'Yeast extract,' I purred at him,
'Marmite, and nothing less.'

'Oh Barbara!' he wailed in anger,
'Loving you is tough!
You look monstrous, you utter tart,
I f*cking hate that stuff!'

I cupped my hand to my yeasty breast,
And posed an angry pout,
And then I saw the empty jar,
And knocked the b*stard out.
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4 comments

  1. This. Is. Awesome.

    You my wonderful lady have a hidden talent there. Audition for Britain's Got Talent next year, you'll be a hit!

    Oh Marmite how I love your yeasty goodness xx

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  2. Haha, YES!! I can see it now, me trooping up on stage dressed as a jar of marmite, crinkled poem in hand. Simon would love me, I just know it...

    Xx

    ReplyDelete
  3. Wow this is amazing and hilarious, I can't believe you've written this it's fab! You are one talented cookie! XxxX http://thesecondhandrose.blogspot.co.uk/

    ReplyDelete
  4. Thank you, that was brilliant!!!

    ReplyDelete

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