She Often Complains,
To Girlfriends 2 And 5,
Who On This Occasion Of Monologue,
Choose To Lend Now Familiar Ear,
As She Launches Into Latest Sorrow,
(Yet Privately I Think She Rejoices)
Of How He Makes Love To Her,
To Jazzy Tunes Of Mingus, Monk And Miles,
And Heart Throbbed Soul Ballads;
Of Luther,
And Whitney,
And Lionel.
White Girl, Barely Out Of Teens,
Black Man,40 Going On 50,
Cleaving,
Heaving,
Across Generations Of Passion.
Does She Perhaps Wish,
That He Should Again,
Leap Backwards Across Generation,
And Switch To The Venga Boys,
And Then To That Most Technotronic Of Sounds,
Go Boom, Boom, Boom,
As That Venga Bus Too Goes;
‘Boom Boom Boom,
I Want You In My Room