William Shakespeare walks into a pub...

... the barman yells, "Oi Shakespeare, you're Bard".

So anyway!

After weeks ploughing through my course book on how to write poetry, here is one of my sadder attempts. I rest my case.

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The Hot water bottle

You keep me warm, cosy, comforted
You are covered in soft red fleece – fluffy like a spoilt kitten’s.
I hug you in fear of the cold
You never burn me
Sometimes I wonder if you will explode
Do I hug you too tightly? In my sleep do I roll over you and forget you are there? But you never do.
You never leak. You keep a circumference hot around the cold cotton sheets where I huddle foetal like
You keep the chill from chilling me

You are pliable, soft, and malleable like a baby with fur
Though you smell of singed rubber .
Water gurgles inside you
Water sloshes inside you

I can move you around my body for extra heat.
My feet are coldest and you rest there, heavy but not oppressive
My toes wiggle under the warmth
You do not move away
You do not turn over

You stay with me throughout the night when the temperature is beyond zero.
You chase the icicles away


In the morning you are still there
A little used, a little frazzled.
You stay with me as I drool and snore and snort
You always start heat-hot and grow lukewarm
But you never ever blow cold.

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