I have a Youngman neighbour,
A retired criminal full of love.
Natural or artificharm, I cannot tell.
Like most men in love,
He’s a fool…
To his wife, he will boast about his days in prison,
Awaiting trial…
He’s wife is an acid-tongued virago,
Always talking about fights her husband fought
In the market place,
Always talking about charms and voodoo priests.
©2001
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