Sexual Behaviour In Suburbia - Poem by Phil Baker
You are not there to fantasise,
that's not lust that's in your eyes.
It's Sturday night again, so no books but 'passion' -
prepare yourself for your weekly ration.
No, it's not a dreamjust in your head,
there is another empty vessel within your bed.
Pretend you're ill, asleep -
you know it won't work, the act will be missed.
Accusing eyes to avoid when you wake.
Duty calls - you're a hypocrite, fake!
Come on, only 5 minutes - it's expected,
open your eyes, you were self selected.
Horror at this dishounest coupling,
no feeling, love, desire - nothing!
Procreation, tehn they ask -
is that the reason why?
Mowing the lawn is a weeklty task
and how that satisfies! !
You can't enjoy this, should have stayed in the bar -
you've worries enough with the neighbour's new car!
Talking is out, you're dead to each other
and why does she suddenly look like her mother?
It's just a quick ride, so full of contrition
you move and take up the hell bent position.
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