International Women's Day....

The Last Bus.

Lizzie decides she'll shoot him.
Wrap his body in a rug.
Hide him in the garden.
Give his dinner to the dug.

She loads her Daddy's old twelve bore
with cartridges red and brass,
pulls back both the hammers,
she's a brave and bonny lass.

But as she swings up the twin barrels
the muzzle gets caught in her tasseled boot,
she accidentally pulls the trigger
and blows off half her foot.

She thinks, "God. This is awkward."
Dougie is running fast and far.
She hops out of the house
meaning to chase him in the car.

But the car isn't an automatic,
to drive she needs both feet.
She can only watch her two-timing fellow
disappear way up the street.

She thinks, "I'll need a tourniquet
and a new travel plan as well
if I'm going to send
this wicked fellow straight to Hell.

So she phones her good friend Susan
to whom Lizzie has so often told
of Dougie's serious short-comings,
his kisses brief and cold.

She cries, 'Susan, Susan. He's still running.
It'll take the both of us
to find him and finish him
before he catches the bus.

Susan consults her bus timetable.
She says, "He'll try for the number eight.
It's the last bus and luckily it stops
just outside my gate."

She says, "I'll take the garden spade
and bash him on the head
then you can come along and shoot him.
That is, if he's not already dead."

Lizzie says, "Oh Susan.
There is nothing more precious than a friend.
How else could we successfully speed
our unfaithful fellows to their end."

So the two loyal pals pursue their plan.
They never once do waver.
Poor Dougie never gets the chance
to use up his day-saver.

And for his funeral they hire a limo
but they send his coffin on the bus.
Lizzie says, "Luxury is for the living,
and that's the two of us."

The Moral of this story:

Budget bus tickets are a good thing
and on some you can surely save.
But not if your next journey
is your last and to the grave.