Because my elbow cannot resist my frown. I wish I could
haiku; but I say kaiku? And that is because once more
I have too much inanity only in store. Frothy and light
is my cappuccino existence. (Will I go to Barista tonight?)
Indeed not. I am broke and my elbow hates my tea.
Coffee is rare, but hot chocolate is for me...]
My tea rests near my elbow. Not really, I just knocked it down.
I think I am a tragic hero, but mother calls me clown.
That is so unfair, like Prufrock, must I dare? To shake
the universe is such a jest. When I break
a leg after I shake a leg, mother calls me pest.
And you know what they say; mommy knows best.
Now whisky rests near my elbow. I will not knock it down.
I shall paint the city red while you confine yourself to town.
Scarlet is my choice of colour, euro or I want a dollar
Don't call me, don't holler. I see lipstick on your collar.
Oh you nasty horrid man, you call me frisky?
Of course not. I am sheepish. I think it is the whisky.
I know what you think of me. Delusions of grandeur.
But really, I am honest. I have such refreshing candour.
You look at my header and you see an ugly poach
Which I call "french omelette". (Must you see me as a roach?)
I wish you would rest near my elbow. What would I do?
Nothing really. Except poke you through and through.
[I am not deceived by Plath-itudes. I like my life happy.
Just don't give me a baby with a horrid dirty
nappy. Don't act so very shirty, and dare not call me flirty.
Don't take me out for coffee, don't look at me like that-
(I know I am fading funny like a whimsy Cheshire Cat)
It's not a beverage but it's the fact that I'm me
Such a sweet changeling addicted to black coffee...]