I am a Puritan at heart, as I hope most of you realise, and am constantly reviled by the suggestive language I find thinly disguised within the works of others. I recently wrote to D.H. Lawrence insisting that he remove that virtual dictionary of smut, Lady Chatterley’s Lover, from bookstores worldwide. I am yet to receive a response.
In the meantime, closer to home, my vigilance in this regard uncovered another attempt to sneak something suggestive past me. Kate is a frequent offender and I sometimes despair over what sort of upbringing she must have had. I blame her parents.
You will note in her poem (admittedly, otherwise quite sweet, though it may be) that she deliberately leaves the word ‘plucked’ out on its own and rhyming with nothing, thus attracting more attention to it and encouraging idle minds to paddle into dangerous waters. You all know where I’m going with this, and don’t pretend that you don’t, but common decency prevents me from providing a more graphic explanation.
She was, as a result, firmly rebuked.
As I suppose you’ve heard
I’m a sucker for a word
I’m a plucker of the petals in a poem
So any mention of a plucking
Sends me dashing, darting, ducking
From the fear of where I think I’ll hear you goin’
I run from the obscene
So I insist you keep it clean
I am analysing every single letter
So when you suggest a pluck
I reply “you’re out of luck”
I was naughty once but now I’m getting better