Fingers Crossed

I’ve never been in therapy
Or told to see a shrink
I don’t do mind expanding drugs
I barely even drink.

I’ve never been a gambler
Or modelled in the buff
I go to bed at half past ten
I think that’s late enough.

My husband’s never left me
I’ve never been untrue
I grew up in a happy home
With parents (count them) two.

My family is functional
Without a whiff of dys-
My parents were devoted
With suspicious hints of bliss.

Our kids are sweet and thoughtful
They don’t rebel or grouse
They pass exams with lots of A’s
And never trash the house.

Though dad was once a plumber
I’m roundly middle class
And white as mashed potato
With spreading English arse.

I earn a decent salary
I give some to the poor
I’ve never been in prison
transgressed the smallest law.

No mystifying illnesses
No bravery through pain
I’ve still got both my tonsils
They don’t seem to complain.

I’m not too keen on solitude
Or striding through the hills;
No moments of tranquillity
For blasted daffodils.

I’ve got the words all ready
I keep them in my head
But don’t have any subject
With half a gram of cred.

A poet who’s contented
Is quite a contradiction
There’s only one thing for it
I’ll have to turn to fiction.