Pending Caleb's acquisition of books, and hoping this time to hit on one of Mike's favorites, I'll post a few more by the redoubtable Wendy Cope: first two epigrams, then something longer.
Another Unfortunate Choice
I think I'm in love with A. E. Housman,
Which puts me in a worse-than-usual fix.
No woman ever stood a chance with Housman
And he's been dead since 1936.
Loss
The day he moved out was terrible---
That evening she went through hell.
His absence wasn't a problem
But the corkscrew had gone as well.
Rondeau Redouble
There are so many kinds of awful men---
One can't avoid them all. She often said
She'd never make the same mistake again:
She always made a new mistake instead.
The chinless type who made her feel ill-bred;
The practiced charmer, less than charming when
He talked about the wife and kids and fled---
There are so many kinds of awful men.
The half-crazed hippy, deeply into Zen,
Whose cryptic homilies she came to dread;
The fervent youth who worshipped Tony Benn---
"One can't avoid them all," she often said.
The ageing banker, rich and overfed,
Who held forth on the dollar and the yen---
Though there were many more mistakes ahead,
She'd never make the same mistake again.
The budding poet, scribbling in his den,
Odes not to her but to his pussy, Fred;
The drunk who fell asleep by nine or ten---
She always made a new mistake instead.
And so the gambler was at least unwed
And didn't preach or sneer or wield a pen
Or hoard his wealth or take the Scotch to bed.
She'd lived and learned and lived and learned but then
There are so many kinds.
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