Blind Date

On his wrist a Submariner Rolex

On his tie was a Cartier pin

The epitome of style and of fashion

A dandy without and within.

His suit had been made by a tailor

On that World famous street, Saville Row

His monogrammed shirts were handcrafted

At two or three hundred a throw.

With all the designer enhancements

From his head to his leather shoe sole

A generous dash of Armani

And Beau Brummel was ready to roll.

As he waited to meet a young lady

He paced up and down on the road

Small care as to where he was treading

Slipped on a dog’s after lunch load.

In disbelief stared at his Gucci’s

Made from the skins of two Crocs

The doings had gone through the lace holes

And on to his Versace socks.

Falling then through a hedge backwards

A gash on his head and his chin

In order to gain a firm footing

He grabbed at an open dustbin.

The contents were fetid and rotten

And soaked him right through to his vest

He smelled like he’d been in a sewer

In that suit, and right up to his chest.

He then slipped on an old pizza packet

And fell on his face on the floor

The left over bits of that pizza

Then stuck to his hair and his jaw.

In time when he’d partly recovered

He staggered back out on the street

He sat down there for just a few minutes

Not sure if his date he should meet.

But as the young maid stood before him

His misery was bound to increase

She reached in her Gaultier clutch bag

And tossed him a fifty pence piece.

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