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| Terms of Endearment |
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I shuffle each day past the greensward peasants Molding somebody's earth The helmsman directs from the bed of the crate And fingers his pockets for all that they're worth Bootstraps were made to be broken By a wealth of invisible hands Dignity force-fed, then stolen And packaged by the choicest of brands They surface as soon as the workers are gone And kiss on the edge of their fertilized lawn And he says, "Dear, I love you" And she says, "God, I love you" They watch the sun set on the boys in the street playing God with a magnifying lens With a hand on her stomach, she whispers to him, "I hope we have children like them" |
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