Curse

May your charms and your guile
Serve you well for a while
But then fail like the blossoms of May.
May your hamstring grow taut
May your nose grow a wart,
May your teeth slowly start to decay.

May mistakes stay unlearnt,
May your dinner taste burnt
May your tyres attract nails on the street.
May you often, by chance,
Tuck your skirt in your pants,
May your flatulence not be discreet.

May your midriff expand,
May your legs stay untanned,
May your facial hair grow strong and thick.
May your perfume cause rashes,
May you lose your eyelashes,
May one glass of red wine make you sick.

Oh there’s nothing to fear –
I’m not bitter, my dear.
Sure we parted upon best of terms.
I just wish you good luck
When you find yourself stuck
With a terrible dose of the worms.

The poor little squid

The poor little squid woke up suddenly
While all was still dark in the pool.
“I do not feel well,” he said woodenly.
“I don’t think I’ll make it to school.”

His dad, who was always suspicious,
Regarded his offspring in bed.
He always suspected sick fishes
Were experts at swinging the lead.

“You don’t look too bad,” he said dolefully.
“Perhaps you just had a bad dream?”
His son stared back up at him woefully,
His look of distress quite extreme.

“Just look at his skin,” said his mother.
“Those spots have come up overnight.
I think that we should get another
Opinion on our young son’s plight.”

“The doctor’s a waste of good money,”
Said his father with growing distaste.
“Just smear him with fish oil and honey –
Your sense of alarm is misplaced.

“Six pound to come out for a visit?
How does he expect us to pay?
It’s not worth the money now, is it?
Those measles will soon fade away.”

“Shut up!” she replied, in a lather.
“Just look at the poor little kid!
By God, you’re a miserly father
Begrudging a measly six squid.”

Given his cards

He worked in an old paper factory,
Like his father, a grizzled old Pole, did.
But things turned out unsatisfactory
When the old paper factory folded.