Ken sits around in his pants all day,
not knowing what to do with himself,
while he waits for her to come home.
She shouts goodbye every morning
before she heads out through the door,
space suit on, helmet in hand.
Ken’s enlightened as the next man doll,
but ever since she got that job with NASA,
his frozen smile is wearing thin,
and not even an afternoon flipping
plastic burgers on his summer grill playset
can restore the sheen to his moulded hair.
He thought she’d got this career stuff
out of her system after he’d hidden
her last outfit – brown boots, khaki shorts
and red safety hat with headlamp detail –
but regrets now he didn’t disappear
her tools, too, because he feels like a fossil,
and it’s only a matter of time
before she comes for him with
her palaeontologist’s hammer and chisel.
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése