Bessie

There are times when men like me, such as I,
Full grown past three score years,
Seek comfort in a woman such as you,
My dear sweet breasted Bessie.
Your doors are always open to me,
And I come to you, park my bike
In the alley, pass the men waiting
For the others, who interest me not
With the breathy smiles and damask lips.
I climb the stairs, familiar and worn
As smooth as your fair skin, my Bessie.
Familiar knots beneath my finger tips,
Are all I seek, for a fair price,
And then I’m gone, on my bike.
Goodbye my girl, sweat bested Bessie,
Same time next week, same time.
‘Ay’ says you, who have seen it all before.
‘Same time next week, same time.’

Grayson Ellis (c) 1976
From ‘Down Shropshire Way’