Mr Watkin’s very being fed on shocking us all
With the tales and observations
Of a rich, old man with his Oscar
Holding open the downstairs toilet door.

Ruefully he held his jaw and,
Addressing you directly, feared that
Alterations to his bridgework
Would somehow impede his techniques
       In Oral Sex.

There was a pause. 
David and I waited,
him to be fed,
      Me in protective mode.

Perhaps you were thinking of lunch or Maigret.
But it was Mr Watkin who went unfed,
      Apart from your sweet smile.