Here's to You, Mr. Robinson

So what to do but to relish sweet lips
sans mercie and make moan a faerie,
my make believe dame whose grot is an alley
in Plastic City between tall buildings
before my work is reviewed by short men
in polyester powder blue suits.

Better yet I favor under the covers
calling in sick from the Holiday Inn
with pseudo Suzie, tomorrow she's Jane,
before the freeway, two bottles of wine,
one for the Mrs. I take mine
for the lingering smell of Ben.