I’m not actually sure whether this is a poem. Or an attempt at a slightly off-colour joke. Or what it is. Mostly, I was just playing with words and ideas. 

The invitation

Hear the sad story of Johnathan Fewless

who knew that at sex he was hopelessly clewless.

He admits that without a specific instruction

he won’t recognize an attempt at seduction.

Coy hints are too easily misconstrued;

they don’t always mean someone wants to get scrued.

Invitations would need to be fully explicit

to assure him he won’t commit something illicit.

The invite must come, if it’s going to matter,

with gold-embossed lettering, on a silver platter.

Anything less than a perfumed RSVP, it

still wouldn’t register; he just wouldn’t see it.

Ms Dorothy Downes

requests the company of

Mr. Johnathan Fewless

for an intimate dinner for two.

Candlelight and soft music.

Burgundy and brie

Caviar on cream cheese

Baklava and clotted cream

R.S.V.P.

P.S. Don’t forget your pyjamas.

P.P.S. Forget the pyjamas

 By Jim Taylor, August 2019