Brad Pitt

 

Brad Pitt

 

Nigel, one night, while lain in bed,

Patted Laure on the shoulder and said:

“Darling, I love you with all of my soul;

Please would you lower your flag on my pole?”

“Nigel” she said, I’m too tired tonight;

My sovereign banner’s folded up tight”,

So saying, she drifted off into sleep,

Leaving poor Nigel awake counting sheep,

And as she slumbered, content with a snore,

He tossed and turned, till his pole was no more.

 

This scene was replayed all week and the next,

The weeks became months and Nigel was vexed;

His petite amie had lost her desire;

What would it take to re-kindle the fire?

He picked up the Mail, smiled at the news,

(Filled as it was with pro-Brexit views),

Then noticed an ad that took him aback:

An item he needed, delivered fast-track.

Without hesitation, an order he made,

And he, being Nigel, was offered free-trade.

 

Two nights later, he said to his beau:

“Close your eyes darling, I’ve something to show”,

“What is it Nigel?” She asked in surprise,

For he had placed glasses over her eyes,

On opening which, she near had a fit;

Nigel was gone; in his place was Brad Pitt!

“Darling, don’t fear, it’s really just me;

Nigel’s still here, though it’s Brad Pitt you see,

The glasses you’re wearing are making it so,

Now unfurl your flag and watch my pole grow”.

 

Oh what a glorious time Laure had;

So much the better, now Nigel was Brad.

Her flag was hoisted to wondrous heights

And lowered again with equal delights.

Nigel lay back, most pleased with himself,

Fearing no more his place on the shelf,

As for the glasses; he’d donned his own pair,

Presently, Laure was no longer there,

And flying the Jack, on top of his stump,

Was lovely Ivanka, daughter of Trump.