NOT HER KIND.
Baxter isn’t your
Kind of man at all;
Too full of himself,
With that darn awful
Swagger, just like a
Poor man’s Cagney,
An imitation
Right down to the dark
Evil looking eyes.
He never throws his
Money around; just
His fists and sometimes
At you, just when you
Are least expecting
It, when you think he's
In a good mood, when
you think that his dark
Demons are away
On a vacation.
And it always comes
Back to the flowers
And the box of chocs
And the I don’t know
What came over me
Talk, and the big sad
Eyes look and he there
Kissing your hand all
Gentlemanly like;
But it’s just a sham,
His way of getting
Back inside your head,
Heart and underwear.
The last time he slapped
You he loosened a
Tooth; the blood spoilt your
Blouse, numbed your mouth; there
Were teeth marks on his
Hard knuckles. He likes
To make love to you
In the afternoons;
Shafts you as often
And as rough as he
Can; nights you suspect
He spends with other
Dames, with other lips,
Hearts and different
Names and maybe he
Treats them just as rough
And mean, and makes love
To them all in such
Different ways, just
As he did with you
In those long sweaty
Nights, in former days.
