The builder.

Friday, 4pm rolls around.

The drilling and radio stop.

Today, new problems have been found,

and the client is ready to flop.

Finishing his fourth cup of coffee of the day,

the builder talks of the weekend (to her dismay).

 

“I’m not allowed ou’ on my own,”

the builder says to the client.

“the missus wan’s me ‘o stay home.”

(We both know he’ll be defiant).

“Most weeks, down the pub, ‘ go out with a grand

an’ return with a bird’s number on me ‘and!”

 

“15 years ago – no, 13 –

I done all sports; I was the best.

Now, I quit the fags to be clean.

From one flight of stairs, I need rest.

I’m cutting back on the booze and lost 6 pound.

From where?  I dunno; I’m still just as round!

 

“I done a Tough Mudder last year;

and a Hell Runner, November.

I’m tryna cut down on the beer,

but I don’t always remember.

Nearly killed me,” he says wryly.  

“Oh no”, she responds dryly.  

 

“Well, it seems you’ve made a good start!

And you’ve got a goal in your mind.”

(What a long day – when will he depart?

As she tries to be smiley and kind).

“Protein shakes and I’ll get to how I want to look!”

The client won’t be rude, so she asks, ‘Can you cook?’

 

“I ain’t allowed in the kitchen,

the missus gets all O.C.D.”

(What’s it to do with permission?

Would he make her a cup of tea?)

“Except patatas and ‘faggots'”

What the – ?!  Did he just say ‘maggots’?

 

The builder has pints in his eyes.

The client’s ready for quiet.

Once he’s cleared up all his supplies,

(and reconciles beers with his diet)

he leaves his cup on the side and jumps in his van.

And she thinks, “what a funny builder is this man!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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