Monday, December 2, 2013


And so it is she mingles
in beer bars that are for singles,
hoping to find a date.
Hopes to find a partner
and be part of a pair,
hopes to find the right mate.
For many in the throng
the choice is often wrong.

The guy was her Svengali
and she was his Trilby.
He said "A great singer
girl you'll sure be."
Then it was her voice fell flat.
Magic may go at the drop-of-a-hat.

The girl with the balloon
and the 'Kiss-Me-Quick' hat
on the lower promenade
by the sea is sat.

The seabreeze is caressing
what's seen of gold hair
where she sits down
in her wheelchair.

And the breeze is caressing
the long twisted limb
that holds the balloon
on the end of a string.

I stand at the bar,
nothing to be said,
but many a thought
rattling in my head.
"You remind me of
a hit man," she said,
who bought a drink,
"or a Judge Dredd.
So tall and dark
and mysterious.
Seemingly aloft
to the rest of us."
No assassin
am I, I said.
And nor am I
a Judge Dredd.
You'd sure have hit
the nail on the head
if "lofty thoughts"
you just had said.

Chin up, China.
Don't look so sad.
You tell me of men
and women you've had.
And I tell you
that I am straight,
though to your suggestion
I can relate !

Chin up, girl.
You feel alone,
but I'll come for you
when you telephone.
Yes I'll come for you
when you are down,
and when you're up
we'll go China-Town.

Chin up, China.
Though you're half-Thai
it is China-Town
that gets you high.
Poppa was a cop.
Poppa was Chinese.
A bullet brought poppa
down to his knees.

Chin up, girl.
It was long ago.
He died soon after,
yes I know.
Leave alone the drugs
and the drink too.
Just pick up the phone,
I'll come for you.

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