She lost her footing in the rain,
Needing a Christmas, getting pain.
Looked upon with disdain,
Her eyes she raised with a tear-drop stain.
Hunger, greed and French fries,
Reasons why a man dies.
Yet all somehow satisfies,
The worldly rule of the game of dice.
She still walks in the fading day,
Hunting for her hunger along the way;
While men rub their bellies and say,
"Who's the chef by the way?"
And I, in my country dress,
Am no child of excess.
I scrounge around for caress,
From hands that either love or bless.
Drummer boys with joysticks,
Pick up women sharp at six,
To feed them coloured whiskey mix,
And get them down to their heady tricks.
I look upon those fun and games,
To laugh within my skinny frame,
At those giggling dames,
Whom the cunning Jackie tames.
Know they not the deprived souls,
How the little script unrolls;
How the silent starting bell tolls,
And achieves the cunning Jackie's goals?
Wise men on paved cracks,
Smoke and snort some foul smack,
Talking before the turned backs,
Of hunched beggars and lumberjacks.
They talk of things they do not know,
Like starvation and breaking snow,
As precious moments come and go,
Which away they knowingly throw.
A palmist in the black bandanna,
Who goes by the name Susanna,
Bites a nice big banana,
And looks for her Santana.
She would dance to his guitar gig,
Grasping at her falling wig,
And taking a long drunkards swig,
From his jar of juice so big.
I join her in her charade,
And a smile we shyly trade,
Then sit and discuss about the books of Sade,
And other matters the law forbade.
The mistress and her doctor sad,
Talk about his young lad,
And how the kid turned bad,
On seeing the two unclad.
Although they may try their hand,
To make the laddie understand,
That what he saw was nothing grand;
Just a trip to wonderland.
The doctor's wife sings and bakes,
Four and twenty cupcakes.
She'll serve them when her husband wakes,
With cold tea and milkshakes.
Little does her silliness know,
Where her husband comes and goes.
She's happy with her flour and dough,
And shooing off the irksome crows.
I cheer them all as they play,
their masquerades night and day.
Unknowingly they give away,
That they never mean what they say.
