Cold Heart

I wonder, did wife remember my lambswool sweater?
As we arrive, park our car, and release our Red Setter.
Then the clouds take my breath but my wife rolls her eyes,
She’s seen Lunesdale, the bakers, and their famous game pies.

The trip looks to be doomed as she licks both her lips.
…but I might have a plan involving ‘hot’ fish and chips!
I say “Pies are for tea, wife” and jump back in the car,
and coax her aboard with a Mars Delight bar.

We race to the chippy and I rush right inside,
with a grin on my face and a strange sense of pride.
As we gorge in the car, wife crows…”yours looks much nicer”.
But then hers is the one I’ve laced with de-icer!

Within minutes she’s gone as I’m spared from more cawing.
So I look to the clouds and begin a rough drawing.
Then the irony hits me, goodness, what a caper!
I’ve only gone and forgotten my paper.

© Mark Peacock 2009