Though you seek to amuse me, instead I’m aghast
when you stir up these tales from your vagabond past—
how you set out with no education
upon a path with no destination.
When you tell what you did when down on your luck—
what you’d do for a dime or a quarter or buck—
I don’t want involvement with one of your kind—
one who’ll do anything, caught in a bind.
How can you think that your tales of abusing,
of wooing, beguiling and loving and using
could be aphrodisiac is hard to see.
They only insure your next victim’s not me.
So I’ll say ta-ta, au revoir and so long.
I won’t be a lyric in any sad song,
and when I dress up in wedding apparel,
I’ll make sure my groom is a good deal less feral.