Just a poem about a couple attempting to make a baby. This piece is what my mum would call 'Percy filth'.
Family Planning
They stood on the bridge
over the River K Y
at its estuary
to the Ovulant Sea
both synchronised watches
and studied charts
to conclude that
on Thursday at three
her tides would be in
most generous flow
and his love boat could
sail to Virility
with anchor dropped
seamen would swim
in the deep warm
Bay of Fertility.
Back on the bridge
he found it hard
to confess that he
had been vasectomised.
