Celibataire
I swear that I’ve seen her in here before
As she sits at the bar and orders one more
In the half-light she half-looks a bit like you do
But I know that I’d best not start anything new
All the same I sit and I waste half an hour
On thoughts of cold hearts and dreams of fake flowers
She doesn’t look like she needs a poet
Just a good man who knows how to clean round a toilet
The distinction is common and clear and unsubtle
So I’d best put that Jenny back in the bottle
No idle chatter about making me whole
No introspection or dark nights of the soul
Best there’s no-one comes home to keep me from sleep
Or to draw crazy patterns on my tattered sheets
Best there’s no morning partings of curtains or ways
And no feelings of longing at the end of the days
Best there’s no-one to keep any-one safe here from harm
No spark of passion and no smoke alarm
