438 – No More Mr Spice Guy

Poem Number 338


No More Mr Spice Guy


I live above a takeaway

The smell seeps through the door

I used to like a curry

I don’t eat them any more


I’ve washed and scrubbed for hours

But the smell won’t disappear

The curtains stink of balti

And the rugs of sag ponir


My nose is always tingling

From the cumin in the air

A turmeric aroma

Is embedded in my hair


My friends no longer visit

And at work they sit downwind

They’ve banned me from the deli

So I have to eat from tins


My girlfriend upped and left me

‘Cause she couldn’t stand the stink

Of tandoori in the bedroom

And pasanda from the sink


It didn’t used to be this way

When first I bought the flat

The downstairs was a sex shop

And a quiet one at that


There was no smell or odour

From the men in dirty macs

Who wandered round ‘just looking’

At the dildos on the racks


Their stock was clean not smelly

So my flat remained pristine

And they always shut by ten o’clock

So night-time was serene


Not like evenings now, of course

The take-out’s open late

And the customers are rowdy

So my sleeping isn’t great


I’ve tried to sell the premises,

Bring matters to a close,

But I couldn’t find a buyer

That was born without a nose


So I’ve realised, with a heavy heart

There’s just one way to win:

I’ve bought two tonnes of Semtex

And a detonator pin


I set the plastique round my walls

Then took the pin downstairs

And hid it in their telephone

Whilst they were unawares


And now I sit here dialling

From my Semtex ridden flat:

Pretty soon they’ll answer and…

Kaboom! That will be that!


No more stench of cumin

In the air and on my lips

At last the nightmare’s over

And they’ve had their curried chips


So bye bye dear masala

The battle went to you,

But I will win the war at last

You’ve met your vindaloo!


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