Femme Fatale

The barman nodded knowingly, she smiled and said “Bonsoir”
She moulded to a barstool and he brought her café noir.
Her scarlet beret matched the lipstick rosebud on her cup,
I sat beside her, caught her eye then winked and said “Ey up”
I said “hello love, what’s your name” She answered “Femme fatale”
I asked “Well, how’s it going lass?” she shrugged and said “Pas mal”
She pointed to an olive dish and whispered “Voulez-vous?”
“Another Abba fan,” I said, “My favourite’s Waterloo”
“Why not come back to my place, love, for coffee, chat, etcetera”
She raised an eyebrow, curled her lip, murmuring “Peut etre”
“Let me whisk you off,” I said. She muttered “Laisez faire.”
“Well darlin’ it’s you’re lucky night! I’m gonna take you there!”
I said “You want to eat something? I’ve heard it’s Cordon Bleu”
“Naturellement” she replied “It’s simply de rigeur”
“They do good fish and chips” I said “with mushy petit pois”
Looking down her nose she shook her head and said “Faux pas”
I said “Don’t you belittle me, my girl, I know your sort
You’re taking lots of liberties.” She answered “Vive le sport!”
She eyed the menu up and down then muttered “Quelque chose”
“Me too.” I said, confidently “Yes I’ll have one of those”
“It all looks very chic” she said, “Shall we go a la carte?”
“Oh no, we’ll eat right here,” I said, “I’ll have the onion tart”
She leaned towards me whispering seductively “Du vin?”
“Usually I do” I said “They call me white van man”
She finished off a plate of snails and proclaimed “Magnifique!”
I suggested “If you like we’ll do this every week”
A chauffeur stepped in at the door. She said “here is my car.”
“I’ve put the meal on my account so I’ll say au revoir”
“Don’t leave me on my own “I cried” to walk a lonely road”
“How can you be alone?” she winked “You have your chevre chaud”

It's a King Thing

It’s a king thing.
All this talk of a royal wedding is doing my head in, doing my head in.
Let me tell you about royal weddings.
I've had a few do you know who I am?
I’m Henry Tudor, yes Tudor. Without wishing to be rude or crass
these royal weddings are a pain in my Tudor ass.
Oh yes I’ve had a few, do
you want me to regale you with tales of regalia,
of conquests and failures,
of ladies in waiting, sating
my appetite for mating.
It’s a king thing, all that bling.
With this ring I thee wed
is what I said,
but don’t let me find you in anyone’s bed
or you’ll wind up dead
with a rolling head.
It’s a king thing
to start your own church
if you’re left in the lurch
so arrivaderci to Rome and the pope,
no hopers, cardinal sinners.
You could have backed a winner
with me and Boleyn; are
you still preaching , fools
or breaching rules?
It’s a king thing.
The way things are
it’s better by far
to be one over Parr.
Don’t go looking at my wife
if you value your life;
I’ll see you later,
you traitor at the gate or
behind the stables if it just can’t wait.
I see more than you think,
before you can blink
you'll be in the tower;
cometh the hour,
cometh the man with the power.
Are we clear?
It’s a king thing.
But wait, oh Kates, I’ve had a few,
but then again, not too few to mention;
always my intention
to be the centre of everyone’s attention,
not in a shy way
or a sly way
or even a Howard’s way.
Let history record that
I did it my way!

Acknowledgement to Paul Anka for My Way