Caught in the Act

"Quick: get out of bed!" she cried. "For to my husband I have lied.

I told him I was with my sister, not some strange, unwholesome mister."

So panic races round my head. Where do I hide? Beneath the bed!

It's a divan - there is no space. And so I seek another place.

Perhaps the wardrobe would do nice to hide me through my secret vice.

As I hide with hanging pants, arrives: a heard of elephants.

As Husband charges up the stairs and trumpets out his anger, "Where's

the greasy little S.O.B? I'll kill him. Just you wait and see!"

"There's no one here but you, my sweet. Go back downstairs and rest your feet."

"I don't believe a word of it. Come out and fight, you little git!"

Of course I don't, and try to beat a very quiet hasty retreat.

He hears me move and turns his head. "I hear you! You're fucking dead!"

As toward the wardrobe comes certain death, I suck my thumbs,

And for a miracle I pray that God will come and save the day.

Too late! For husband's drawing near, blocking off the way that's clear.

So I strike him in the balls, and as he to the carpet falls,

I step past him and start to run like the clappers; I've had enough fun!