Number Six by Gillian Leaver

‘Number four,’ said Alison.
‘Well, well,’ her husband said.
‘That must explain his rhubarb crop,
It kept the whole street fed.’

‘I liked him,’ Alison declared,
Nose poking through the blind.
‘I never liked him,’ David said,
‘I’ve come across his kind’.

‘You didn’t, no, you turned away
Whenever he walked by.
Of course, he had a flashy car
And was a handsome guy...’

‘His girlfriends screamed all bloody night,
Dumped handbags in our bin
And I’m supposed to shake his hand
And plaster on a grin?

He said you were too good for me
And on my doorstep too.
I don’t know what came over me,
It’s like a fuse just blew.’

‘Another tent,’ sighed Alison.
‘Oh David, all those screams
Were cries for help, not orgasms,
He murdered them it seems.’

‘We weren’t to know, how could we?
And now he’s flown the coop.
He’ll be in South America
And me, I’m cock-a-hoop.’

‘But David, why did Robert hide
The bodies on his land?
He could have found a little wood,
Instead he’s shown his hand.’

‘It’s moving them that’s hard to do,
They weigh more when they’re dead.
And women often peep through blinds
When they should be in bed.’

‘Oh David, look! A sniffer dog
Has vaulted over here.
It’s digging up our turnips
And they’ve done so well this year.

David?

David...?’

 

Comments   

0 #1 Art 2021-06-11 06:24
I don't know about number 6 it's worthy of a number nine!
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