I did try,
Sat there straining,
But I'd run out of suppositories,
I wanted to cry,
It was like giving birth.
I pushed and pushed
With strength that should have moved Heaven and earth,
There's no point in explaining.
But, on the bright side,
I saw stars, and thought of Elvis,
Gyrating, or was it writhing in agony?
I imagined passing out,
Like he did,
Thought of my life,
Ending like this,
With knickers round my knees,
My face contorted,
Longed for it to pass out,
Thought of calling the midwife,
Or the Fire Brigade,
And beg them "Help! Please!"
But they'd think I was taking the piss,
I might be reported,
For wasting time.
There was pain, in my side and my pelvis,
I think I wailed.
There was nothing for it,
My attempt must be aborted,
I would have to use soap, like they probably did during the war,
Or in Victorian times.
Then I remembered a phrase that I'd heard before,
When something on the internet had stopped working
"503 back end fetch failed"
I hadn't known what it had stood for,
But now it made sense to me:
There was a number one, a number two and number 503.