Beth Boland

For You

For you I'd rip my right arm off
And eat it fried in batter,
And then I'd eat the other one
It really wouldn't matter.
I'd pull my toenails out with glee
And mount them in a frame,
In fact there's not one bit of me
I wouldn't gladly maim.
If it would make your precious heart
Beat just one beat for mine,
For I am a devoted slave
Who worships at your shrine.

For you I'd tackle icy peaks
Clad only in a thong,
For you I'd paint the Eiffel Tower
With nothing but my tongue.
For you I'd lay a railway line
Employing just my teeth
For you I'd wear a shirt of thorns
With barbed wired underneath
And smile politely as I went
Pausing mayhap to sing,
For with your image in my mind
I wouldn't feel a thing.

For you I'd dye my eyebrows red
My ears a vibrant green,
For you I'd have my bum tattooed
With pictures of the Queen.
For you I'd shave off all my hair
Replacing it with jam
Then tamper with a hornets' nest
And wouldn't give a damn.
If you would bat a single lash
Just one degree my way,
For you I would do anything
Yes anything I say.

I'd take my mother into town
And sell her for a quid
And even (if it came to it)
Accept a lower bid.
I'd spend a fortnight in the stocks
For all the world to pelt,
With rotten eggs and other things
That really hurt and smelt.
Exfoliate with Brillo pads
And bathe in boiling oil,
Have all my fillings drilled with holes
Then eat a roll of foil.

For you I'd walk on burning coals
Without a backward glance,
For you I'd take up ironing
And learn to Morris dance.
I'd buy a book of modern hymns
And with my ukulele
Betake me to the Underground
Where I would sing them daily.
Yes even though it brought about
My premature demise,
All this I'd do and more for just
One fondle of your thighs.

For you I'd go to Wimbledon
And scream when they were serving,
I'd read a Barbara Cartland book
(There's nothing more unnerving)
I'd make kebabs of my insides
And wash them down with tea,
I'd eat so many pickled eggs
I'd be more egg than me.
I'd wend my way to the Savoy
In clothes that really clash
And pick my nose and swear a lot
And order eels and mash.

I'd watch an hour of Emmerdale
With no sick-bag to hand,
I'd buy my frocks at Littlewoods
And wear an Alice band.
I'd turn up in a shell suit to
The Ascot Ladies' Day,
I'd go to Butlins for a week
And really try to stay.
I'd seal my ears with superglue
And then I'd do my nose,
Walk naked to Trafalgar Square
And strike a fetching pose,

Then shin up Nelson's Column to
Saw off the one good arm,
The subsequent imprisonment
Would cause me no alarm
For thoughts of you would constantly
With balm my soul anoint
And cheer the chambers of my heart
Well have I made my point?
I adulate, I idolize,
I laud, esteem, adore,
Exalt, revere and venerate
It's possible what's more

That love for you has made me mad
At least that would explain
The little men with stethoscopes
Now living in my brain.
Oh give me something, anything
'Ere my heart too is broken,
If not the whole of you my sweet
Then how about a token?
A lock of your resplendent hair
Would be surpassing nice,
A hanky you have snotted in
Would equally suffice.

A gob of earwax or the muck
Accrued between your toes,
A fleck of dandruff from your scalp
A blackhead from your nose.
A length of smelly dental floss
Extracted from your bin,
An Odor Eater from your shoe
Well now do you give in?
Have mercy on me gorgeous one
And seat of all my bliss,
If it is only to prevent
Me writing crap like this!

bethboland@hotmail.com