[Image: a still from The Thomas Crown Affair (remake)]
So now you rubbish me to all of your mates
So now I’m a failed stockbroker, part-ruined in ‘08
Ferrari Testosterone, a car I didn’t own
My ego fully-fuelled on a brand new number plate
So you know that dress I bought you, it cost a filthy fortune
Dolce et Gabbana never looked so opportune
Other men did view it, your body was glued to it
And when the sunlight pierced the window they could all could see right thru it
So when Kieran got cute you returned his pleasantries
That composite twat, that suave-suited social disease
When I was out in France I just knew he was in your pants
Never gave those solemn marriage vows a second glance
So when I did that shift in Paris, I bet you couldn’t wait
I wonder if he knew back then he had it on a plate?
Did he eye-up my Ferrari before parking his salami?
Were you thinking of our children when he had you ‘neath his weight?
So – I began to break-fast at Kim’s
Fertilised her eggs according to her whims
But revenge sex with mental wrecks leaves such a salty taste
Strong enough to make me lick the HP from my plate.
A breakfast swallowed down with the bitterest of pills
Is this really how some people choose to get their thrills?
My moderate appetite for all things extra marital?
Well, it’s barely apposite to your hyperactive genitals
So I adored you and implored you, occasionally out-whored you
Pray to God I didn’t bore you whilst you did that ‘thing’ I taught you
As you spied the mirrored ceiling, was my arse so unappealing
That you made love without feeling in your last few weeks of grieving?
So I’ll sign off here, and let me make it clear
This is the last text message before I disappear
My CD’s you can keep, I’ll collect my clothes next week
You can forward any mail to 7 Rue Saint Dominique
Copyright Jody Redmires, 2016