Steve Morris
How's this for speedy contact?
Just seen your ad in Loot
It doesn't matter to me one bit
That you're balder than a coot

I find bald men quite cuddly
I was Kojak's biggest fan
Please tell me more about yourself
Kind regards, Joanne.

Dear fulfilment searcher
Or may I call you Clint?
It doesn't matter, not one jot
You've got that dreadful squint.

We each have inner beauty
Deep within the soul
And each of us is a child of God
Pure and sweet and whole

Dear Clint, just got your e-mail
Yes, it could be nice to meet
But I'm busy for at least a month
So let’s just keep it sweet

I'm impressed with all your poetry
Where did you learn those rhymes?
The rude one made me laugh out loud
I've read it sixteen times

Dear Clint, you are so wicked
Your questions, they're so blunt
No, I've never had black underwear
That's see-through at the front

And I've never posed for Polaroids
I'm not that way inclined
When a lady reaches my age, well
She leaves those thoughts behind

Dear Clint, let's change the subject
Give the naughty stuff a rest
I'm too old for titillation
And those games that you suggest

I'm searching for a soulmate
For a life-long cosmic trip
I've no desire for sexy fun
With a Rowntree's Walnut Whip

Dear Clint, you did, you promised
I'll remind you one last time
We agreed to talk of finer things
Like music, food and wine

I don't think we're compatible
We've have such differing lives
I was brought up Sunday Telegraph
And you're just Readers’ Wives.

I've stopped the e-mails coming
And I've notified the police
How dare you send me downloads
From a porno site in Greece

Why was I so misguided?
You're not a child of God
You're a cross-eyed, pervy slap-head, Clint
A disgusting little sod

Dear Clint, I've missed your letters
They were best when shocking blue
I want to correspond again
And I hope that you do too

I haven't found that soulmate
It's not much fun on the shelf
So I'm up for a laugh and a roll in the sack
With a randy old dog like yourself

Darling Clint, it's fine for Sunday
We can meet by the Town Hall Clock
I've got the keys to a colleague's flat
She's spending the week in Bangkok

I'll be wearing those undies you sent me
The ones with the quick-release clip
So come all prepared with the cherry blancmange
And I'll bring the Walnut Whip.

The end