summer
and the women all walk round half-naked
wondering why
the men are suddenly more stupid
even to the point of drowning
sorrows as yet uncreated
deep in pints as yet unwanted
praying that the alcohol
will dull the keen XY-ray vision
peering through the gaps between
the scraps of lightweight fabric
bearing promises
of nothing
whatsoever
really
not today
sun
and loneliness in weather fine as this
is all about one question
when did you last...?
could you?
might she?
old frustration's wailing banshee
burning up from inside out
as all good juices turn to bad
and all good men go softly mad
Little Flower Book by Wayne Myers