A poster boy for disappointment

The Search

I pen a mailshot to Southwark’s sex trade hotspots, to start with dreams of winning hearts, I’ve learnt to drive slow, after dark, Leaving no skirt or stone unturned, I understand that true love is bought, it isn’t earned, I paid the pay I’d earned that day, Alas she took my spends and ran away, I ‘looked too forlorn to be worth wage’, Word soon worked round that I was underage, Each one I met wretched at the thought. With too many birds, I burned bridges.

Date: 17-04-2015