Forthcoming
Last year
He came out of the closet
Had spent
Thirty years
Trying to find
The right pair
Of shoes

The Flowers of Fall
On the road to Bolequeime on the way to
the German supermarket that sells proper Teutonic sausages
autumnal blossom flowers sit on white plastic chairs
high heels and shorts
Sometimes a car stops, no, not the man in a white van
usually, it is a big car with dark windows a business man on
The way to the office. A quick blow-jobs nothing much else
to do in a car and no need to undress.
The flowers have water which they drink from after a job
in this line of work, no one smells the roses
They used in the summer gone look exotic on the beach and
clubs but only pensioners are here now and they walk
slowly in the sand, so they trek inland like beautiful **** by
the roadside and the dust of passing cars.
The roses look nice in falls light if you remember what love is
you’ll not find it here by the verge they only sell despondency

The Emerald Isle

           Sailing into Cork, I saw the green hill and the sea were jade.
          Understood why Ireland is called the Emerald Island.
            On sheer slopes sheep grazed, chances I thought,
the slightest slip and they would fall into the verdant waters,
           why do not graze at the plateau, be happy with modest
           fodder if not as succulent as, grass, too Insafe to get at.
          And sheep that fall are caught by voracious vessels and turned into a stew.
         Cork was a pretty port it had no hasty feel back then,
         it became a busy place ignoring the hazardous slopes,
         holy is economic growth, lush living for everyone.

The River of life

The mountain ice gave birth to a river
Crystal clear down rapids that were an ecstasy
Of ****** pleasure smoothing rocks  
Foaming of joy let it never stop do it again
The stones said.
But some waterfalls were not so silver-tongued
Ending in eddies of resentment.
The water became corrupted by overuse as it
Reached lowland of temptation
A wide flood running slowly towards the ocean
Where it will be clear again and regain its innocence
Alas, it cannot make the journey once more.

The Vanished Aircraft
The plane that disappeared some years ago
with 290 passengers didn't fall into the sea
but landed at the back of the moon, where
The landscape was surprisingly lush if pale as
there are no red roses on the planet.
There was life on the planet, different in
shape and form and easy to tame and taste
like chicken, and disappeared as the Kiwi bird,
or almost as it was the plane's passengers
the only source of meat.
But there are plenty of edible fruits and vegetables
with no name yet; not to forget
a new religion that worships the earth and
Dali Lama since everyone knew about him others
as presidents remembered are archangels.
There was peace until politics entered and split
people into several camps, for now, they
have no weaponry, so fighting is like shadow
boxing in the pale blue light.

Stay at you lest

In the working class district where grew up
Stay with your lest
most boys began working in a factory when old enough
they married to a nice wife had a little flat and children.
they continued being solid workers till the reached
pension age got a watch and a picture in the local paper
dressed in ill-fitting suits looking solemn and proud.
They had done their life’s work and could now
sit in the park or feed the ducks and wait for dinner.
I didn't want this went to sea and later at catering academy
but I was a lousy ****** spent most of my time reading
and when I had reached the pinnacle of my profession was
utterly bored and rebellious I was not wanted and
took a job on a ship anywhere in the hope of finding what
I was unable to define. I tried writing, prefer the vignette style
used English or the Norwegian language, it was a slow going
liked to do what I did even though, I was rarely published.
I sit in a small cabin far from home and know I should have done
as the other boys become a reliable worker with a nice wife,
They found dignity in their place I should have done the same.

2019

We got off the bump of New Year, 2018
is a submarine run aground on an island
in the Saragossa Sea.
Her sailors walk in ring drink whisky from
bottles that never empty and don't make
the drunk enough to dance a jig.
The sailors’ life is an odd one they see
life passes by but always from a distance
when they finally go ashore, it is the second
best offer the divorcees of availability.
Yesterday’s hamburger, stale ketchup and
rejected buns, they take what is accessible,
no other choice as the ship sails on and on…

An accidental old man

A very old man fell down a hole when he was out
walking looking at the pattern of the clouds.
The earth was loose when he tried to climb up, kept
sliding down, so he sat waiting, and it was evening.
He fell asleep and during the night water from
an ancient sea rose and filled the hole so he could
float holding onto a root, and when the water was
level with the ground he could get up and get out.
The sea that had been trapped so long kept rising
and the valley became a lake and his house, which
had been on the high ground a sought-after property,
and he could afford to buy a coffin of mahogany  
with brass handles.

Soldiers’ Women

On the plateau, a file of women in black,
war widows waiting to be given tea, bread
and rice from two men in a pick-up truck.
The men spoke hoarsely scurrying them on,
found their work embarrassing they would
rather be back on the mountain fighting.
Thought of the women as superfluous, yet they
had given birth to boys who fought and daughters
who was married to a warrior.
The women didn't look the men in the eyes,
spoke softly about the health of grandchildren,
they had miles to walk down to the village, till
meagre soil and tend to skinny goats.

Power play

I sometimes think people get what they deserve
****** was elected, Stalin too and Netanyahu is also elected,
but when the house falls it's easier to blame one person
calling him evil and thus avoid looking at ourselves
The majorities of the Israelites have a hardened attitude to
the Palestinians, it is as they look at them as vermin,
we have heard that before in another time here in Europe.
When the downtrodden take power they have much to revenge
Usually, it is the weakest that get a taste of their whip.

Old man drives in Alentejo

It was a warm day, with hints of fall, when he travelled through Alentejo
He stopped many places and took pictures of the undulating landscape,
Grazing cows and sheep resting under a cork tree, and no ****** drones
will come, blow up farms and **** the cattle.
He stopped at a small village inn, it was empty, and the owner told me
He had to close; the people had no work and lived on bread and potatoes.
Ah, this clear sky a painter's paradise, had a hidden sun-drenched
poverty will they ever wake up and start another revolution or are freedom
curtailed by EU, doomed to a life without laughter.
The farms I saw were farms producing cash crops that looked colourful
but didn't need workers, and it was not meant to be like this.
There was great hope after the revolution in 1974 when the landed elite
lost their land, but somehow they got it back, using their influence
and money. The old man ate lunch and drank red wine and thought
of poverty and sun go hand in hand in this blessed land.

Not what you see

It looked an idyllic scene
a farmer with a sweet, little red tractor
was ploughing a feel while his mule now unemployed
stood under a carob tree resting.
The tractor stopped no more fuel, the man went to
the nearest petrol station to buy some more, but a dreamer
walked past gave the tractor pink wings, saw it flew
towards the sun.
The farmer went to fetch the mule that was tired
standing under a tree looking picturesque.
The mule said, is what dreams are made of all
you need is imagination.

The lion man

There was a gang of thieves in Napoli made their living
stealing at night, they found themselves in a basement of a big house
and found a smallish lion in a tiny age, they freed the animal
that turned out to be friendly and followed aroun
They let it sleep in the garage; having such a big can't bein the house
as lions have little sense of order.
They began taking the lion with them at night using it as a guard,
this was noticed and the press called them “the lion gang”
The chief of the police got the idea of killing the animal and thus
demoralize the gang, and one day when the young thieves
were cornered the lion was shot.
And to their shock the lion underwent a change turned out  
to be a naked man with broad shoulder and long hair
and no one knew who he was since he had no identification
The chief of the police was sacked and other officers disciplined.
There were anomalies as the skin of his hands was that of a lion,
he was buried on unsacred ground as a John Doe, and as most
of the gang was behind bars and could not attend his funeral.
Next day the grave was open, no lion man
he had simply disappeared, perhaps become an animal again
gazelle hunting on the plain of the Serengeti.

For a few Lovers more  
I was driving along and on the car radio Rod Stewart
sang “have I told you lately that I love you.”
Why do I find it so hard to say those simple words?
I have practised in front of the mirror looking like an actor
who knew his lines but have no talent of imagination.
I bought her a car. Instead, this made her happy now she
could drive to see her lover, and return earlier  kiss my bald
head and say : I love you, thinking of him
I met him at a party and said I love you…for making my wife
so happy, he was stunned into silence.
She stays home now I think he broke it up because every time
they made love to he was thinking of me the zing had gone
it was in the open the affair had lost its dynamism.

The Lovers


On my walks in the interior of Algarve
I followed an overgrown track that once
had been a road for horse and carts.
At a clearing, I found a clumsily made shrine,
and on it with unsteady hands, was written
Pedro and Maria 1912.
I sensed an immense peace sitting here.
Love is enduring and everlasting.
Their tenderness is what I breathe
in the trees and plants.
Later on when I was lonely and sad
I went up there and warmed my soul
on their love.

Love's Agony

You are the long evenings, the deepest night.
Sweet dreams you are not, in your embrace I'm not reborn
the future is bleak.
I know well a night spent with you gives birth
to bitter regrets.

I promise not to seek you won't help,
I love you more than life itself.
The blue hour casts long shadow and I can't
resist its alluring echo.

Our lair is feathers of tenderness,
but thorns of demanding ferocity.

A pact we made in a church, which reeked
of bunt wicks, desiccated roses and the redolence of death.
The name of our love is…Agony, we can't
put stop clawing each other asunder

A night for Romance

Wes at on an upturned boat of the type of “the old man and the sea.”
by Ernest Hemingway used, the night had all the ingredients needed
for romance, full moon and glittering stars on blue velvet.
She gave herself to me, how trite and old fashion this sentence sound
nevertheless, it was so, sixty years ago.
I gave her a cheap wristwatch bought in Genoa it was hopelessly slow.
I think it was in some small sea port in Guatemala or some other
the port on the coast of Latin America and the year was 1964.
Then the night paled I could see my ship it was ready to set sail
to some other destination. And so many years later her kisses
still lingers on my lips.

The Enemy among us
The western world has lived in peace for sixty years
mainly because of EU and shared horrid memories.
This has not been the Palestinians case who were
shooed away to give room for a colony called Israel and
those who object – freedom fighters- are called ISIS.
The USA have dropped bombs in the middle -east for
a long time and produced more ISIS fighters which now
is a common name of all who do not like being bombed.
Ex-president Obama sends drones they are intellectual
from the out- set. Trump drop a bomb the biggest in the world
it made a terrible noise, and 36 Taliban were
killed, they too are called ISIS.
(In Trump's case one wonders if he suffers erectile dysfunction)
China and Russia is ISIS in disguise, as are left-wingers
and those who do not believe in the American dream.

Drowning dreams

The lake in this landscape of stones and sky is dark, forbidding
Alluring, like hypnotic eyes coming nearer and see me.
My depth is endless it murmurs, all your illegal dreams rest in
               Me, come swim in me, dive and I will show you the sensual shock you have been denied, you will see your parents in a ****** embrace
floating by, your lust to join them is''  unbearable and out of you
ejaculations. There will be no respite, no hiding place for dreams
you have refused to see.
Has morning light rescued you from the truth?
As you sink further down the hell of your existence shall drag you
Into the flagellation of desire, and you'll see bones of those who
gave in to yearning, forever living in the hell of the impossible desire.
The lid of the dark eye shudders, turn back now, let me embrace
the forbidden, and your secret will go unspoken, like the shifting
Sand in Sahara where only silence survives.

Love is 3

When we are out driving
She tells me the way.
When reaching a roundabout
She tells me how to approach it.
When the journey ends
My face is a mask of forced calmness.
I park the car
She takes the lift up
And a primal scream is heard
emitting from the garage.

Modern Transport

The new silk route is exciting
from Pekin to Paris takes a week on a train
fully laden with shoes, dresses, toys
and tightly packed wads of dollars for politicians
The travel is free but you must be prepared
to eat canned soup and Peking duck, for a week,
but you can take pride by doing
the passing of solid waste in 15 countries.

A love story too  

We are making love
But in your eyes I see
You think of someone else.
At ******
You shout out the name
“Rudolf.”
Who the hell is he?
I resentfully ask.
The red-nosed reindeer
You say and smile.

Legs

Marlon Dietrich – Blue Angle had shapely legs
She advertised long after she was sixty-five
Selling sleek socks and perfume.
Legs are smooth or rugged coastline in a fjord
Get narrow and narrower on the way to the port.
It can take days to unload and recharge,
or a hasty in and out like modern container ship.
Leaves the birthing unsatisfied and restless.
But on the other hand, ok, if it is business.

A Greek poem


We were walking uphill the mule and I it was hot
and we stopped by a spring trickling down the mountain
there was open barrel for animals to drink.
The beast drank and drank; when I looked it was big as an elephant
and since the track we walked on was narrow it lost its balance
fell to the bottom of the hill.
When I came down it was ok if a bit hazed and we began to walk
uphill again.

Unpainted Canvas

The insurance man was young and so closely shaved
it looked so naked, and I had to look away,
His face was  white like a blank canvas that had
still to be painted on by time.
When signing papers he had to use reading glasses
which made him look older.
He was incredibly kind I had an attack of lumbago
and he helped me up from my chair standing up
I'm pain-free, but I can't stay up all day.
Back to my old self I opened the door bid him well
and we parted as friends.

Tuesday Rain.

The café facing the busy street has big windows
and I see umbrellas walking by, some of them
stop, fold wings, shake water off backs and enter.

I remember my childhood in black and grey when
umbrellas were stygian; a lady umbrella was a bit
smaller, had frilly silk borders,  was sable coloured too.            

Now they are  all colours but black, cheap and
cheerful a sharp breeze and they turn inside out
and that’s ok; it’s the cheery bit I like.    

During world war two, the German air force
dropped a few grey bombs down into our town,
no big deal, pale flames warmed winter nights.  

In colours everything tends to look good, poverty
too; the hungry wear colourful robes and falling
rockets look like fireworks a festive night.

Ethnicity
                              When I came to England
I couldn't get a job opened a café instead
in a district called Wavertree, Liverpool
Someone said Jews live there I didn't see any
the people I befriended told me they were Jewish
that made no difference to me.
I never cared what ethnicity people, have never had.
But I'm highly critical of Israel which I regard as
racist country an apartheid state
that treat the Palestinians
the way the **** did to the Jews
and other minorities.
It is therefore offensive
to call the Jews an evil race
as they are victims
of the Zionists just like us.

About me (isn't it all)

Old age is travel towards death, and I spend
the waiting time writing what I call alternative poetry
as I'm not fond of swanky poems full of adjectives.
I have published many books of poetry on the Amazon
and about 30 E-books each book is about thirty pages
consist of poetry and opinion and read by no one.
I have a catering education but what I know comes
from reading massive amounts of books and
newspapers, of a solitary figure, except my wife
have no friend (they are all dead) should she go
before my life would be no worth living.
Every morning I sit pedalling away on my stationary bike,
try to get in an hour, but it is like going nowhere fast.
I comment on what I read in the Guardian and on twitter,
like to read George Galloway's opinions, he is small
of stature, is a narcissist and should be careful not getting
to close to Russia, the bear has sharp claws.
I spend my time (if not wisely) by being active this because
boredom beckons when I have nothing to do.
In the evening I drink wine and fall asleep in front of the TV
I have always been a drinker, but dislike drunkenness.

http://imglogo.podbean.com/image-logo/716014/poweredbypodbean.jpg

Bombing raids

I was born before the world war two and remember
sitting in the basement of a school, in the dark with fearful adults.
The bomber planes where British looking for the airport
but everything was in darkness, failing their objective
bombs were dropped hit house many died, and there was fire.
It must have made a big impression on me, although
I cannot remember the fear, but when I hear sirens, I panic and look for shelter.
Mother sent me to a farm in the countryside, as it happens
it was next door to a military camp and sometimes at night
when enemy planes were in the air and cannons were fired I shivered
in my bed and took to sit under a footbridge that crossed
a small river saw little fishes swim and shiny stones.
Otherwise, I had a good war except
I'm petrified by the look of guns and fireworks New Year’s Eve.

The Voice of the People

The morning is excellent and calm
I try to write about the feeling I have inside me,
but can only come up with a feeling
of boredom, that comes when looking out of the window
too often and see nothing has changed.
I don't want to live here anymore, but is fearful
of the unknown – being outside my comfort zone-
even if it is tedious, I find the world scary,
a cacophony of a common scream
That comes with unbridled democracy, everyone
                       Has the right to be heard when they should be quiet
                       or speak sotto voice
when they can only produce banalities
Thinking has to be approved by the masses and
those who call themselves liberal

First of September

It is oppressively hot it as summer
refuses to leave the stage and is overacting badly,
to be a walk-on actor or a decoration in play
about summer, it is jarring.
We applaud, but we are tired of the monologue now
It is a time for the lesser actors

Chechnya

Retina less windows
Bodies, strewn in foul streets
A photo of Grozny

Summary executions
Death sways from unlit lampposts
Friend or foe, who cares

Conspiracy of peace
Both sides declare victory
The truth is debris

The Ruin

There is a ruin only a few metres away
from my back terrace, once it was a ruin that could
be repaired, and I looked inside it had once been white
I could see the mark where the cross had been,
but it also had a well in the middle of the floor, it was
too small for my needs I didn't buy it.
Now the roof has fallen in and it beyond repair, yet
it has a dignified charm of the utterly fallen.
Once it had been some one’s home children had
been born here and they had played outside, now it
will be torn down and there will be a space
and it will only be remembered by me and by elderly
people who will only recall when the house is no more.

Failed States
So they killed Gadhafi to free Libya and
got the Western world to help them. Alas the rebels
only fought for what they could get,
and now Libya is a failed state. They have tried –rebels-
to get rid of Assad with the help of USA, the country is
on its knees, but some nations are seeing through this charade
and are willing to keep Assad in power, for the time being.
It will not be easy the Americans and the Israelis
are doing their best to turn Syria too into a failed state.
it is up to us to stop them

Family Gathering

He dreaded family gathering and now
he was in the middle of one.

Tried to lasso the wind (Samuel Johnson)
of old slights remembered.

They turned to him called him a coward
always siding with his mother or being absent.

He just sat as not hearing the coward bit riled
as usual he absented going into his den.

The Hamlet

In a deep valley, where winter sun doesn't reach
Time moves slower than normal and so damp
You have to wear a rain coat even if it is not raining
I came across a hamlet so muddy that dogs have
webbed feet,
duck tails and bronchial bark.
Only women dressed in jute sacks live her together
with ****** sons
who sit in dark recesses and sleep in the pig sty,
pull faces and laugh at nothing in particular.
Beans, pig fat, garlic and boiled cabbage is their diet,
and the women love death, waits for one of the fools
to die so they can have an ****, pull hair
and scream all night.
Seen from the top of a hill the hamlet looks
charming and rustic.

The burning
Let Rome burn, so spake Nero or one of his flunkies
Towns and cities are burning every day in the Middle East
Flames taste not of roasted chestnuts in the Alley
Of peace but the stench of hatred fills the air.
This will continue till the last drop of oil, better still
Until we don't need petrol for our cars any more.
In the middle of this, we have Israel armed to the teeth
Yet fearful, it is as it knows the future is lost.
I wonder why so many high ranking officers in the USA have  
German surnames, one thinks it is a tradition.
In new wars to come it will be about water- resources.
Look out Scandinavia, so you don't end up like Libya.

The old poet and red wine

                     The old man gets up early in the morning; he doesn’t
                     eat breakfast but drink coffee, switch on the computer
                    look at the blank screen waiting for a word to come
                    so he can try writing a poem; it is a hard going so he
                    mounts his training bike and get some exercise.
                   Noon is the best time of the day; he walks to his café
                   have a good meal and a jug of red wine, which puts
                  him in a good mood and talk to the old men in the park,
                 Sometimes one of them say something interesting he
                can use when writing. The old poet knows his best
                work is behind him, but he still tries to tease another
               poem out of his mind. His evening meal is simple he opens
                a tin of soup and drink a few glasses of red wine watch
                TV, or makes comments on the Twitter.

I was in Trieste

It was in 1962, a revolution attempt that failed
roads had been churned; the American CIA tried to blend in
not successfully wearing Hawaii shirts to hide the guns.
I met her at the railway station, a small woman with a big suitcase
which I offered to carry at her lodging.
I was a polite young man, thanks to my communist mother.
It was a long road, a cobblestone road, was heavy going
I have come to think Federico Fellini was hiding in the case.
Arriving at her lodging, I was not invited to her room
she gave me a peck on the nose.
Later I learned she was a famous actress, but I wondered
why is she, in Trieste?

The Evening Light

I ought to take an interest in death
But I no longer find it an interesting subject
It has to do with acceptance
Which I find comforting since I’m not religious
But has a strong spiritual streak
I believe in the mystic
What we fail to understand in normal life
I have second sight
I can see the near future only I suspect it is
Caused by experience
I believe in ghost by those who have not
Accepted death they are generally unhappy
And totally powerless they can't call up
The devil since he does not exist
I have seen my dead dog on several occasions
She lives in my mind, but I do not dream of her
As I used to and now she is in black & white
Demise is in a way a monotonous subject
There is no future in it, here I manly laugh
Look at my watch I will have drink at eight swim
In ocean of mild intoxication

The undead?
One day, a high summer season, I drove my bike
along with a narrow track, the led me deep into
a landscape that once had been domesticated
but now had gone back to nature,
I came upon a small clearing ringed by tall
umbrella trees leaving the clearing in an ominous
half- light where sun glare danced among
the branches of trees and bushes; I saw three
hearses and a van, none of them had wheels
the windows of the last-ride-cars had been
taken down and flimsy curtains put up to give
it a resemblance to home.
A family of itinerants had found sanctuary here
and I was not welcome; they threw pebbles at me
and I had to turn the bike around sine
narrows forest road ended at their camp.
They came running, trying to catch me, and dogs
snapped at my heels. I have never attempted t
be back since but, often think why some people
are so poor they have to live in a hearse.

The Optimist
It will all be alright one day you will see
When we have eradicated greed, economic wars
Seen off people who works against  
The common good of man but preaches a religion
Of superiority and blood lust
They will disappear from the earth's surface as
Will other religions also their true nature exposed
Take our freedom and enslave us
When the hallowed word democracy means equality
For all and not a way of the smart to exploit
Those without economic fortitude but prefer to walk
In an enchanted garden and dream of Utopia which
If those who think they have been privileged by
A deity invented by a scribe would let go of their
Sense of injustice and hatred against the world
Yes this has been a good day and all will alright
One day, it truly will

The happening

On the balcony sat a raven it had yellow eyes
It crewed with delight.

Ill in bed the flue, a stream of transpiration
turned into a raging river.

Transported me to the sea which was cooling
and calm lowered the fever.

The raven had fallen to its death into the canyon
of high rise flats.

A man picked it up his dinner of the day saved
he wore a feather on his hat.

The saver


He began saving money when 15 years old, liked to see
his bank account grow, not for him to spend money on
restaurants, drink beer with friends.
He inherited his mother's house, repaired it cheaply by
stealing materials at building sites; he was rather proud
of how little it had cost him.
He had a small investment that paid him a small sum of
money once a year, and in his bank account, it went.
Needless to say, he lived alone a wife costs too much,
wanting this and that, so he visited elderly women who
didn't want his money only a bit of love.
Then one day, he was eighty lived on potatoes and
cabbage all his life and the cheapest of wine, but he was
too old to spend money now; a lonely millionaire
who only read the statements the bank sent him.

The Plateau


The plateau is so much bigger than I thought it took years
to get here but the distance is so enormous will I reach the other end.
Before my birthday which I try to ignore those I loved have
died and not spoken off they are a ghost in the machinery of living.
The world has turned around the sun many times and what mattered no longer do so,
but I'm happy to find my reading glasses on top
of the freezer. I pity those coming after me; they and their brood will be nuclear dust.
If there are any survivors, they will start making flint axes and learn to communicate. I
have made my warning and will hereafter say no more about the subject

The problem of a misfit

The problem with being a ******
is when you come home you have fewer friends,
and those friends you meet are often who were
lost within themselves.
One day I found myself on a park bench drinking
brandy from a bottle that was passed from man to man,
this struck me as a shame to have sunk so low
I got up left them with the bottle had paid for and
walked away, my life was not here.
I left the town for England for a while it was interesting
but couldn't understand the class divide, I had to
find a place of peace, and I saw it in the interior
of Portugal and have lived here ever since.

My Lovely
I wrote your name
On an autumnal leaf
And let it blew away in the wind
Now you are forgotten
But only your name
I hear your whispering in my ears
On cold brisk days.

The Norwegian club

We went there last night
it was set in a wine bar and the prize,15euro each,
I refused to pay that much.
The bar was almost empty but for a group
of Norwegians who sat whispering in a corner
And there was no one to welcome us.
I was donating some books to the club
left some of them on a table.
No one stirred.
I thought the scene was surreal.
We left and had a meal at a Portuguese
restaurant.
I suppose the books were thrown away
after closing time.

The Daughter

I looked her into her brown eyes and said, I love you,
just straightforward without any hesitation or reservation
I had sometimes taken to get to this point because
I had said this so many times before to other women.
My wife believed me, and when I come home telling
her I have fallen in love with the check-out girl at
the supermarket, she called me an idiot but knows
the girl is the daughter I never had.
No, do not feel said my reason for wanting a daughter
is that I don't want a nurse to look after me when
I get really old. You see my vanity is considerable
I have had an operation in my eyes, wear no glasses.
The next is a hair transplant, I long for the days when
someone thinks I’m my son, but I still dream of
a compliant daughter, and I wonder if this makes me
an anti-feminist.