MEN } also { TALK

I spoke today with a colleague, a man who’s become

my friend.

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

in love.

I tell him exactly how in my life

up to now,

four women have roundly rejected

my being

and my seeing

and my way of doing happy.


For the

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

I have


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

Town House”

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.

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