lovesick blues

It’s Love, You See.


Knocked on the lovely ladies door, asked if
I could weed the flowers in her front garden,
mow the lawn and trim her hedge. She smiled,
said she has a man in the house to do it.
“Next year?” “Perhaps,” she said and gently
closed the door. Then it was autumn, leaves
flew trough the air making me feel blue;
then winter with snow, and from my window
I saw see her garden looked like every one
else’s, suburbia landscape

Spring came suddenly and her garden was
a mess, weeds were strangulating her flowers,
the lawn a jungle, her hedge looked like
a broken accordion. I walked over and asked
her again, she was in a foul mood, said: “I could
do what I wanted but don’t expect her to be
grateful, I hate men you’re all alike,” with that
she slammed the door shut. It took me weeks
to get the garden ship shape, but when all was
perfect I knocked on her door again.


She came out into the summer sun shine, but
she wasn’t alone leaning her head against
a man’s shoulders she smiled up to me with
teeth that looked like marble headstones in
a Spanish graveyard in moonlight, and her
eyes had the hard glint of sapphires. From my
window I can see her garden it’s lit up by
the light of her bedroom window, and when
the light is switched off I still sit there, tell
myself that I don’t lover her anymore.