I spoke today with a colleague, a man who’s become
We buy each other stuff and food,
when we can, and have the time.
We work together, having a good laugh.
It’s cool to know he’s successful
I tell him exactly how in my life
up to now,
four women have roundly rejected
and my seeing
and my way of doing happy.
four women who’ve so soundly gone and hurt me
I have never been the kind of man
enough for them to want to stay about.
And so when I told him,
he described a place in Liverpool,
where – sure as hell! –
he’s made four real friends who become
the kind of good friends
you want of a kind woman in everything.
It’s a place called “Coopers Town House”,
and it’s just the place
for a man of my age
to meet a woman who might like
the kind of things
the other women clearly haven’t
(at least not the four
the balding up top;
the belly quite pot;
the weird way of thinking;
the strange way to talk.
I don’t want to live with the wife
who just controls
my soul and heart:
I only want to laugh and cry –
and occasionally die – in a good woman’s arms.
And so my dear friend does recommend “Coopers
as the place he would go to make out.
And so as all my attempts have utterly failed
to connect with
the women who made me think –
wrong – that love
could be had for the two of us
so it is time I was real –
and just went for a cuddle in gentle
public house, in the muddle
that is obviously
to be my fate.
Too late it is now for me to love as I wish.
Too late it is now to be happy.
And so on Tuesday this week, after madly hard-won study,
I shall mosey along to “Coopers Town House”.
And maybe in its walls
of friendly containment
I shall meet some good woman who, despite all my
fails, will not treat me quite as
the four women
who – even this lately –
have rejected me all my life, and made of my idea of love
something so pained.
I am lonely as hell, and
I attract women unwell,
and I’m unclear why this happens:
but I do wish it would stop.
And so it’s time to goodbye
the women of my past.
It’s time to meet someone quite new.