Feeling sad and disillusioned, as he contemplated life
One wet Tuesday, while he mopped the kitchen floor,
Henry Milestone hung the pinny that he'd borrowed from his spouse
Very neatly on the hook behind the door.
Then he took the HB pencil from behind his large right ear,
And the point above the paper hovered close,
While he tried to conjure words he felt would aptly summarise
All the mid-life angst now making him morose.
"My esteem is sorely compromised; conformity's my all!"
Wrote H.R.M in self-pitying tirade;
Then he left his note beside the tea pot with an added kiss,
And walked out the front door terribly afraid.
With his brolly, hat and mackintosh, he caught the 42,
Which soon whisked him off away and out of town
To a new life full of jeopardy, uncertainty and risk,
With his routine now completely upside down.
As itinerant and hired hand, he hitched across the world,
Till poor Henry hit hard times in Marrakech,
And while fending off attentions from a goateed chap in red,
Had a Godly visitation in the flesh:
"Heed me Henry Rupert Milestone, for this lifestyle’s not for you,
With your mackintosh, your brolly and your hat.
You were meant for life in Leamington, with a cup of tea in hand,
Not cavorting in a souk and things like that."
And so Henry Rupert Milestone thanked the goateed chap he'd met,
But declined the post he’d offered as a bawd,
And he gathered up his stuff with one last wistful look around,
While his hand was taken firmly by the Lord.
Then he found himself in Leamington, a mop within his fist,
In a floral pinny, feeling like a twit,
As his wife entered the kitchen, where she tutted at the floor
And informed him of the fact he'd missed a bit . . .