Dear Ms Jones

Dear Ms Jones

Ms Jones, I found your address in my husband’s mobile phone
(He’d left it by the bedside while he dressed).
I think he quickly realised his alibi was blown,
In any case he rapidly confessed.

I gather you and he have been conducting an affair
(I regret to say that you are not the first).
Other than for the children, I don’t really care
I just thought I should prepare you for the worst.

Just a few words of advice, if you’ll permit me, my dear
Don’t ever feed him cabbage late at night.
The last time he ate it he came over really queer
And even now his bowels aren’t quite right.

I’m sure you’ll make adjustments for his funny little ways
As over the years I have learnt to do
The way he wears his underwear for days and days and days
The piles of magazines beside the loo

I’m sending round his washing in a taxi,
The skidmarks come out easily if you scrub,
And the ointment for when his ears are waxy
And the maggots for his fishing, in a tub.

The pills for his “old trouble” are in the screw-top jar
He only has to take them now and then
Oh, and make sure he sits on a cushion in the car
Or his haemorrhoids will start playing up again

Well, I think that’s quite sufficient detail, dear
Still, I suppose I’ll miss him when he’s gone
While I drown my sorrows with some retail, dear
You’ll have the satisfaction that you’ve won!

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