More tea?

This poem is a gift from my brother. He can afford to be generous. He's married.

Tea for two
and two for tea?
Not for me.

Finis.

Stereotype

This happens to me every year.

It is that time of year again.
It causes me no little pain.

For whilst I know is has to be
I have no love for MOTs.

Knowing my car is safe to drive
Helps my mind to rest at night

So, all alone, I take the car
To the garage, it's not far

And yet another world it seems,
Another language, headlight beams.

They ask me questions - I don't know
What MPG, if oil is low?

They look with pity, or maybe greed,
And on my ignorance they feed.

Never nasty, never bullish
But every year I feel like rubbish

Because I cannot, let's be honest
Even open up the bonnet.

'Tis Better

To be read at my best friend's upcoming wedding.

'Tis Better
To have known the highs
And live with the lows
I imagine.

But I could be wrong.

If there was a really bad low
Who would get
The John Lewis tableware?

Washing Up Alone

For Simon and Ashley, and their happy marriage.

I wash up alone
One plate
One fork
Two spoons
(One from a cup of tea)
One pan
(Pasta again)
One yoghurt pot
For recycling.
I do my bit
Even though
I do it 
Alone.