Brief Encounters

Their midweek affair, urbane and regular, Conducted with care in the convivial Surroundings of the anonymous motel, Gave Bald Cyril and Bashful Flora Just the right balance of pleasure and danger. Their regular pit-stop of illicit pleasure To the piped music of the manic motorway Was to massage the soul and stale conjugal duties, They supposed, creating a righteous furrow To seed their legal endeavours With vigour renewed. But that was yesterday, Or more precisely the previous Wednesday. Today, our Bashful Flora was feeling some unrest, The tightening of her bra across her chest, A rebellious waist swelling in unison. What was this? Sedition? As she mused on Cyril's pate Sparkling in the sunlight and looking like That huge Supermarket melon, pale yellow too, She'd bought the other day, now in her lap! This wasn't right, humour creeping into their hallowed affair. But it crept and crept into her lips and eyes. It took her by surprise as it travelled at alarming speed Through arms and legs and belly and to her very soul, Shaking her beyond control, into a bouncing balloon Of hysterics! I am told the scene was fortified By Cyril's shocked indignant postures, signalling The final fall of these brief encounters!