Saturday Night

Saturday Night In

Comfortable old slippers
Waiting by the door
Easy to slip into
Like so many times before

Nothing very special
Doesn’t cause a stir
But such an easy option
And always waiting there

What’s the point of changing?
The years are fleeting by
Just wear those comfy slippers
Until the day you die

Too late for running barefoot
Too late for being wild
Too late for acting crazy
Just like a little child

So wear your cosy slippers
And sit beside the fire
And watch those burning embers
Forget about desire

©Marian Barker

Life's a Pantomime

Cinderella Syndrome

It’s the night before Christmas
And I’ve nothing to wear
My nails are all chipped
And there’s grey in my hair

My friends are out dancing
Wearing tinsel and holly
They’ve been on the booze
And they’re happy and jolly

I’m sat by the fire
Just like poor Cinderella
And wonder if Santa
Will bring me a fella

I’ve kissed a few frogs
I’ve met one or two swine
Where’s that Prince amongst men
That I can call mine?

Perhaps in the morning
Now this sounds quite shocking
I’ll awake and I’ll find
A nice man in my stocking

This is written in fun
I’m not lonely and sad
For this year of my life
Hasn’t really been bad

I’ve got family and friends
And I have my health too
Now pass me that broom
I have housework to do!

©Marian Barker

The family button box

Buttons

When I was just a little child
Sat at my mother’s knee
She used to tell me stories
We didn’t watch TV

She had a box of buttons
She took down from the shelves
And for hours upon hours
We would entertain ourselves

The buttons held many memories
For mother and for me
They captured special moments
In our family history

A military button from my granddad
For he was very brave
He fought for king and country
It said so on his grave

A tiny pearl from grandma
I really must confess
This was my very favourite
It was from her wedding dress

A shiny silver button
From the blazer dad once wore
When he went to watch the cricket
Hoping that his team would score

A little yellow button
With a flower on from me
From my tiny little jacket
That mum called a matinee

A woggle from the cub scouts
Was amongst the fine array
My brothers went there once or twice
But didn’t want to stay

Those buttons taught me colours
And taught me how to count
They taught me shapes and sizes
Of that there is no doubt

Now I’ve got a box of buttons
I take down from my shelves
And tell stories to my grandchildren
We do enjoy ourselves

©Marian Barker

My Man

Am I Bovvered?

He sits in front of t' telly
In his slippers and his vest
Balancing a beer can on his belly
He puts my patience to the test

He fiddles with the remote controls
And flicks between the channels
He smokes the fags he always rolls
They smell like mucky flannels

He takes the dog out for a walk
So he can nip t' pub
He never thinks I'd like to talk
Whilst he's shovelling down his grub

He goes to footie to watch the game
He supports a team called Chelsea
He doesn't always recall my name
Last night he called me Elsie

He tried to get fresh the other night
All night he fussed and hovered
He said he'd like to hold me tight
I said "I can't be bovvered"

You may think things aren't too clever
When you read this little verse
But I married him till death us part
For better or for worse

I'm not bovvered that he's lazy
And he doesn't comb his hair
And although he drives me crazy
I'd be bovvered if he weren't there

©Marian Barker