My little pal on the Internet
The last time I saw her on the net
She was still growing milk teeth
Strands from her tufted hair
Danced on her pretty forehead
She wore her unspoilt innocence
On the lambent parting of her hair.
She now talks of manwoman...
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My little pal on the Internet
The last time I saw her on the net
She was still growing milk teeth
Strands from her tufted hair
Danced on her pretty forehead
She wore her unspoilt innocence
On the lambent parting of her hair.
She now talks of manwoman stuff
In the morning she sits on my I.
C.
Q.
panel
Like the little bluegreen bird of summer
Which sat on my parapet wall of balcony
Heaving her meager body as she sang.
She complains of a frayed uncle of forty years
Wanting yellowed sleaze on the sly.
What should she do ,with a lustful man,
Who wolfwhistles in the silences of the net
All she needs is a little gurgling brother
A bundle of shrieking flesh in mother s lap
Or a freckled schoolboy brother in shorts
Not a leatheryskinned lecher of an I.
C.
Q pal.
Take my son,I tell her,hold his hands
Walk into the freedom of the mountains
These little blackberries taste so sweet
Although they bleed and redden your palms
And their bushes have piercing thorns.
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