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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

no

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

Upside down.

 

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

on fire

and

soon the town erupted in a frenzy

of sensuality

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.

 

And if

through special spectacles

you were to look

you’d notice that Venus

was reading a book

 

 

 

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