cross country drove
with a man
at a drop, she left him
to become my woman
turned round, home drove alone
a fickle thing
what a thing
for me trading him

eight months later, so
I did what I must
the bullet bit
she bit the dust
eight months crushed
- a fickle thing, I was -
had it coming, all summer she
had left me hanging
- she, then, left him

it was lose lose
making beds
baking cake and eating too
lying in steads
eight months later
what I did was just
but back again looking
was all of it just
serially monogamous resentment bust?

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