Here’s another one dug out of the depths. I’m not sure what it was originally about, but now it’s about meeting an aging prostitute on a street corner and finding a beauty more than skin deep. Maybe it’s also about recognising the prostitute in all of us. Or just in me – I don’t want to point the finger.

*

 

 

Look at you there

With your thinning  grey hair

A body to share

But no-one to care

 

Lift your skirt, feel the air

A tired old dare

Little boys stop and stare

Without seeing who’s there

 

These boys are your honey

But these boys have no money

They look at you funny

And run home to their mommy

 

Me? Old and wiser

An emotional miser

Out of date womaniser

But no compromiser

 

And the Gods have conspired

That we’re both sad and tired

Pretence not required

We’re no longer desired

 

We both understand

We’ve become old and bland

We have tarnished the brand

And no more in demand

 

Let it be no disgrace

That we’ve slowed down the pace

It’s the end of the race

Might we now just embrace?

 

Let me lay down my head

Let me sleep in your bed

While we’re not yet quite dead

And our blood still runs red

 

Just this moment we’ll steal

And just do as we feel

We’ll pretend that it’s real

And then call it a deal

 *