Once A Week (Poetry)

It works, although I don’t love ’im
’n doubt that ’e loves me —
we’re chalk ’n cheese, ’ave always bin,
as far as I can see.

No lovey dovey flowers ’n stuff,
no courtin’, just a ring
becos ’e got me up the duff
then did the decent thing.

I does me duty once a week,
it’s over in a flash —
a beery kiss upon me cheek,
a sixty second dash.

I can’t say that I likes it much,
but afterwards ’e’s kind
’n almost gentle with ’is touch,
like somethin’s on ’is mind.

’E never speaks but keeps it in —
whatever thoughts ’e broods,
we lies together, skin on skin,
like sex ’as got us glued.

’E’s sort of caring, in ’is way,
unless I’ve got it wrong,
but I wish, for once, ’e’d fuckin’ say
before the moment’s gone.