I always seem to cause
  A quite unnecessary fuss,
Whether in an empty restaurant
  Or on a crowded bus.

I do my best to stay away
  From any aggravation,
But I find myself in trouble
  And in need of extrication

From awkward situations,
  When I need a subtle mind
In prolonged negotiations
  To resolve a troubling bind.

Last week in a restaurant
  I'd heard a lot about
From people whose opinions
  I've never had to doubt.

I had some female company.
  I met her by a river.
She's an underwater diver.
  I was there to give her

Some good advice and crisps
  When she came out of the water.
We seemed to hit it off,
  And dinner then I bought her.

The advice was to say yes
  When I asked her out to dinner.
I assured her that my loser look
  Concealed within a winner.

Without reluctance she accepted
  This advice I offered to her,
Which made me very happy
  Even though my crisps were fewer.

The meal was going well until
  The main course, when I found
Some cardboard in my salmon.
  The potatoes were too round.

I called the waiter over
  And I pointed out politely
The cardboard on my plate.
  An accident, it might be.

I suggested, in a patient voice,
  Both jovial and noble,
That someone with a shovel
  Find potatoes that were oval.

The waiter took my plate away
  With much apologies.
The arrival of the chef
  Triggered shaking in my knees.

He held his favourite knife
  In a hand that bore a scar
That spoke of minor wars
  Within the confines of a bar.

The woman I was with
  Didn't help to ease the tension.
She may well disagree,
  But she didn't have to mention

That she could see his underpants.
  Everyone could hear.
His anger only grew
  And I felt the end was near.

He said to me we'd settle this
  On the street outside,
Which held the possibility
  To run away and hide.

But my date would hate to see me run
  When somebody says 'boo'.
So I slowly drank my drink
  And tried to think of what to do.

I'm not a heavy drinker,
  And I've never been a fighter.
I'm always a light thinker,
  And when I drink I'm lighter.

Since I'd ruled out taking flight
  My options became limited.
I bought another drink,
  Even though to him it'd

Seem like I'm delaying
  The delight he'll get from fighting.
Violence is his forté.
  Avoiding it is my thing.

I found myself espousing views
  On literature of little note.
And boozing makes me talk about
  The time I bought a boat.

One day on a lake,
  Between half-three and four,
I was looking at a pigeon
  Who was standing on the shore.

He was hiding from a vet,
  Underneath a towel he stole.
My feet were getting wet.
  In the boat there was a hole.

A thimble full of alcohol
  Was all I had to drink.
A row-boat full of water
  Was enough to make me sink.

I told the chef about the vet
  I met when I got out.
He didn't catch the pigeon
  But I found a silver trout.

I told him too about a tip
  From the vet, a horse who'd win.
A dedicated betting man,
  The chef could only grin.

He wrote it on a napkin
  And then he shook my hand.
He promised two free dinners
  If he won close to a grand.

The way I dealt with danger,
  With dignity and style,
Impressed my lady friend no end
  And she could only smile.

The horse refused to fall
  On his merry way around.
He merely fell asleep
  On the soft forgiving ground.

The ground is there for grazing
  And for sleeping, not for running.
It can be used for rolling too
  And sometimes it's for sunning.

I was there to see it.
  We all stayed very quiet.
The jockey carefully got off
  And whispered a 'good night'

To his soundly sleeping horse
  In his wooly sleeping cap.
The announcer sang a lullaby
  Throughout the horse's nap.

The horse was nearly woken
  By a very angry chef,
Whose shout would wake the dead
  And agitate the deaf.

I couldn't get away.
  I was rescued by the crowd
Who insisted to the chef
  That he shouldn't be so loud.

Left with little choice
  He just had to wait a while
Till the horse and his dreamy head
  Ran the final mile.

I suggested that a drink or two
  Would make the time go quicker,
Hoping that I'd stumble on
  An answer in the liquor.

I bought us both a drink.
  In silence there we sat.
I pulled a metaphorical
  Rabbit from my hat.

The rabbit was a greyhound
  Who couldn't lose a race.
The mechanical hare
  Could barely match his pace.

I told the chef about him
  And he shook my hand again.
He left and I relaxed
  But in the middle of my gin

I remembered that my last tip,
  Which I said could never lose,
Resulted in him losing on
  A horse who liked a snooze.

And the tip was the advice
  Of a vet who couldn't find
A bird who hid beneath a towel.
  I wondered was he blind.

Somewhere in my mind I found
  A thought that brought distress,
That the lightning-quick greyhound
  Was a monkey in a dress.

But I didn't need to worry.
  He hurried to the line.
He clearly won the race,
  And victory was mine.

Compared to all the other dogs
  It seemed he had a mission.
His choice of wedding dress
  Must have scared the competition.