Sonnet No 333 

When I come wobbling home from down the pub

you make my head throb with your rolling pin.

Then take the water from the babies tub

and wash away my alcoholic sin.

You shove me in the spare room where I snore

and fart just like a dray horse all night long.

As morning breaks you gently push the door

and gag at Nature’s dreadful beery pong.

The curry rice and chips I brought you back

I dropped and stood in on the hallway tiles.

So now my task before I get the sack

is cleaning up beneath your vengeful smiles.

But afterwards just as I have promised

I’ll write you another clunky sonnet.