Lucy was a girl who knew not what she’d got;
Dave was a boy who just wanted to improve his lot.
As VD dawned he sought his best bib and tucker
And with a nod to self thought, “I’ll show you, you fucker!”

Clintons in yawning red sent both on their way,
Platitudes ringing hollow as Lucy looked skyward, grey.
“He’s trying too hard; I’m really not worth it”,
“I hope she likes the flowers, the ungrateful wee shit”.

The roses clichéd, delivered to the office aghast,
This relationship is a thing of the soon to be recent past.
“Oh for fuck’s sake not chocolates too, they’re not even dark!”
“I hope those Hotel Chocolats have gone and left their mark.”

The restaurant’s welcome fizz was cheap and rank,
With an idling, insipid strawberry to break the bank.
The rest of the fayre was uninspired and naff
And all Lucy could think was “God, what a faff”.

As the night wore on, Lucy couldn’t look more bored,
Dave thought he might as well have gone out and whored.
They molested their phones and Lucy swiped right,
Dave’s eyes wandered left and leered “sweet Jesus you’re tight”.

So back to the flat for a VD tumble,
You’re shit out of luck Davey-boy, not a sniff of a fumble.
A prod and a poke but Lucy could not simper,
Dave was just left with a hangdog like whimper.

“You really are pathetic with nothing to entice”,
“Give a shit you bitch, my head’s in a vice”.
“It’s not me it’s you, I can’t take any more”,
“Suits me you slag, you’re an insufferable bore”.

So Valentine’s Day came and Valentine’s Day went,
Another happy couple are over and spent.
Venereal disease would have offered more fun,
Or maybe some bants with a loaded shotgun?


Happy fucking Valentine’s Day good people. I hope it’s worth it.


***This is possibly a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s rotten imagination or used in an empathetically fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events or actual persons, living, dead or stupefied by barbarous propinquity, is purely and uncannily coincidental. The author accepts no responsibility for the decaying worthlessness of peoples’ love lives and refutes any insinuation that the above is in any way autobiographical.***


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