by Gary Hewitt
It’s enough to make my corners mortar,
When I’m kicked in the face by manky vest,
Who fancies the arse of our skimpy neighbour,
Not that’d interest those on the 11th row,
Who never ever endure the horny slug,
Such is my life, an unimportant brick.
I’ve seen all things as a lowly brick,
Everything from chipped faces and chiselled mortar,
To the amorous affections of an horny slug,
I even remember being repaired by manky vest,
Whose hairy fat arms can’t quite reach the 11th row,
Although he’d love to get his hands on our skimpy neighbour.
My corners cheer when I see our skimpy neighbour,
And I tingle when her fingers touch this stiffened brick,
I hear a prudish baying from the 11th row,
I chuckle in pride right through my mortar,
And then I spy dear old manky vest,
Who just avoids squashing poor old horny slug.
He flees up the wall this horny slug,
I stare at the arse of our skimpy neighbour,
Who flutters her eyes at old manky vest,
Jealousy captures this discarded brick,
Anger takes over and girds my mortar,
And I dream of sledgehammering that 11th row.
How they cackle on the 11th row,
When a spunky trail is left by the horny slug,
Right in the grooves mixed up with my mortar,
She strips off her blouse our skimpy neighbour,
I stare unmoving, a lustful brick,
Whilst she’s followed inside by manky vest.
Lucky bastard, dear manky vest,
And above, it’s hushed on the 11th row,
Not hard but crumbling this flaccid brick,
Glancing down to a shrinking horny slug,
And dreaming of the boudoir of our skimpy neighbour,
And white now the colour of my melting mortar
So manky neighbour puts away horny slug,
The 11th row disgusted by our skimpy neighbour
At least I the brick can still play with my mortar.
Gary Hewitt decided to rise to the challenge of writing a sestina about an inanimate object.