You Tell Me Things in Drips and Drabs

The game is a itchy foot,
watching blokes stumble around
playing Agatha Christie
—it’s Dutch, isn’t it?
Day-trippers and riff-raff,
adventures and boys on bicycles,
attractive slender woman:
pretty much what I expected.
The house is going through a tunnel
(I’ll try my best to be less entertaining)
and they have facemasks like little furry burglars.
She’s either counting oxygen molecules or analysing
this whole chunk of time,
running around buying Reggae CDs.
Go back to peddling soymilk and nailing waitresses,
bloody well toasted and ghosted,
that’s what I’m talking about.
The whole Rastafarian culture,
about as long as I can stand,
didn’t go to any trouble on my part.
Do I have to go with the whole cookie analogy?
Sometimes I shouldn’t say words:
that was my point.
Yep, you’re exactly like Jesus,
fighting for truth, justice and soccer mums.
He just looked so stupefied,
extremely taciturn, so secretive.
(You can’t prowl in your own house!)
But, hello, living in a house where a foot
is available to be stolen is weird.
So, what, now I’m a Nazi collaborator?
Just not so spazzy, butt-faced miscreant!
I ask you questions in the hopes of eliciting
an actual response: shooting the breeze,
scotch-talk. I’m turning your bedroom
into a gift-wrapping room…
I’m beyond coffee;
I’m fuelled by my righteous indignation.
I’m afraid the ultimate gift ship has sailed
a while ago; it’s probably in Fiji by now.
So, have you seen The 40-Year-Old Virgin?
Because you might like it.
You’re missing a crazy party out there,
thought we could celebrate by hitting the beach:
I bought her her sex mattress, her sex box springs;
I’m made of felt; and my nose comes off.
Our chemistry is undeniable.
You make a move: I rip out your jugular.
The pain this fork is going to cause
when I jam it into your eye
—oh hey, pillow talk, whatever turns you on.
I told you I was a candy-striper
because I knew nothing was going on.
The kind where mothers and sons always
wear clothes—always, even in the shower.
Never thought the day would end here…
I’ll be watching you.