The Peppermint Men
A poem for Ladies night.
“I’m going to be a Mason”, said my man one day at tea
“It will only mean one evening out - once a month” said he.
One evening quickly led to two, followed by three and four
And pretty soon I asked his name when he walked in the door.
He bought a jar of peppermints and put some in a tin.
“I have to hand them round”, he said, “or they won’t let me in.”
So now when friends come calling and ask, “where is he then?”
I say, “You won’t see him tonight, he’s with the Peppermint Men.”
He dines out fairly often, superb meals, mostly roast.
I sit and watch the goggle-box and eat my beans on toast.
A clean white shirt is needed, his gloves as white as snow,
His suit well brushed, his case to hand, oh dear I wish he’d go.
He’s started talking to himself, I’ve heard him in his den.
I think he’s going crackers, I blame the Peppermint Men.
“I’m going in the chair”, he said, “a position of renown.”
That’s nice, I thought, with his poor legs he’s better sitting down.
“I’ll be the Master of my Lodge” he said, “you ought to be impressed.”
I said, “I am dear – take the rubbish out as soon as you are dressed.”
“You’ll have to make a speech”, said he, “when it’s your Ladies’ Night.”
I looked at him in horror, as fear replaced delight.
I scribbled through a pad or two
as I tried hard to think.
I threw away six ballpoint pens,
when they ran out of ink.
But now the evening has arrived, I hope you agree
That it’s been enjoyable to meet with the Peppermint Men,
To share their Company
and have a four course meal that includes a lovely roast,
Instead of that usual fare of a mug of tea, along with beans on toast.