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Poetry
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| Sightseeing | |
| By Katanga | ||||||||
| 30 August 2008 | ||||||||
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A crude attempt at a rather rude rondeau redouble . . . Sightseeing I've seen some sights around this tourist pool, where lust is all, and love denies its name. The young men vainly preen, the old men drool, I struggle to subdue a fierce flame of passion, hard, impossible to tame. In blatant middle-age it's not real cool to ogle thong-clad girls - it's such a shame, I've seen some sights around this tourist pool. I long to break a universal rule, but all the chat-up lines I know are lame. I cannot get to exercise my tool, where lust is all, and love denies its name. I need more money, looks, a claim to fame, an M.O.T., a shot of five-star fuel, but in the end it's always been the same; the young men vainly preen, the old men drool. It's often said that life can be so cruel, with slings and arrows of outrageous aim, that target me, a would-be rampant mule. I struggle to subdue a fierce flame. I put on my dark glasses, play the game, but, out of focus like an old film spool, I sometimes wonder why on earth I came, pretend to sunbathe while I play the fool. I've seen some sights.
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