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The Transit of Venus
As I rambled through Glanaman just the other day
the radio related the latest research:
‘nine out of ten women prefer men who read books’ ~
It’s no longer looks that count
no more the hunt for a man who can cook
what hooks the girl
is the nose in the book..
and size does not matter.
Well – on I went down the Amman
And news of the research had arrived in the town
it was ramshackled, topsy-turvy turned completely upside down
and quiet as an ancient text.
Men on every corner idling with a book
semi-clad lads outside Harrods
reading Sense and Sensibility
cocking their eyebrows seductively.
Chekhov at the checkout in the co-op
Lolita loitering in the aisles
Trollope propped on trolleys down at Tescos
Dickens in the chickens
and outside Shoppers World
was a suave stallion
sporting The Complete Works of Shakespeare
Hands bookshop had cleared its stock
the queue for the library went three times round the block
with blokes of every age
itching to get a feel of the words on the page
a taste of the stories, a scent of the plot
to dip their sticky fingers in the literature pot.
I stopped and gazed, amazed
like every other woman that day
rooted to the spot
aroused and hot by
such a sensitive lot.
and women flocked to gawp and stare
to giggle and flirt
touching the hems of their skimpy skirts
mad with desire
soon the town erupted in a frenzy
like writhing snakes in a steaming bed
with just one thing in everybody’s head.
And up in the skies above
was the face of Venus,
the goddess of love
passing across the sun
plucking the heartstrings of everyone.
through special spectacles
you were to look
you’d notice that Venus
was reading a book