Midnight Madness

I want to write a poem but I've now’t to write about. So I listen while I'm thinkin’ to the things that people shout. "I'm tired" shouts out my mis's "and I want to go to bed!" So I'll end this bloomin’ poem and go **** my wife instead. Now that's not like our Ivor he is never, ever rude. He's the only one we know of who is never, ever crude. Maybe he’s finally lost it, Is it ‘cause he works too hard. Should we ban his contributions and show him a yellow card? But, I only want attention, as I can't think what to write. So I thought I'd shock my readers with a little bit of *****. I can't bring myself to write it, for I seldom ever swear. And although the words are simple they not the one’s I usually wear. It's a curse to be a poet, when you've not a blinking clue. Why you’re penning trash at midnight when you've better things to do. When the choice is sex or rhyming, there's no question which will win… So I'll love you now and leave you while I go and get it **! Ivor G Davies