You Only Live Once

I don’t suppose for one minute

That James Bond washes his socks in the kitchen sink;

But I think that I’m on to something here –

I can do this without dressing up in a dinner jacket;

In fact I find myself looking rather queer

With an apron round my middle, rubber gloves –

No-one is likely to think me a master spy;

No Bond girls come for a night of awesome love.

I’m not licensed to kill but I wouldn’t mind a try –

You see it’s the passage of time that interests me

As I wring the socks until they are half-dry;

And full concentration isn’t required

So I let my mind wander; it never gets tired

Of 007, the girls and the guns

The casinos, the martinis, the enormous fun

Of fights and sex and cars and gadgetry,

The dazzling opening credits, the Bond theme,

The silhouettes of naked women – half-naked at least –

Bond in a DJ firing his gun; a feast

For the eyes. My eyes still on the socks,

Inspecting them for holes and traces of lye,

I’m happy doing this; it’s downtime from the knocks

I take in my life as a super-spy.


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