She's

She's

A Thai girl, who works in the supermarket,
And he'd like to take her away.
To his home with fur rugs on the carpet,
And a cellar of Beaujolais.
But first there's the matter of speaking to her,
And admitting his life isn't quite so super.

She works in the night, smiling while we
Are too tired to turn off the colour TV.
He dresses up to buy his dinner,
Combing his hair in the two-way mirror.
She rings up his second yoghurt today,
The second tenner he's changed away.
But still there's the matter of speaking to her,
And admitting his life isn't quite so super.

He buys her a card without a verse,
And adds some simple words.
Gives her his life in an envelope,
Then quickly retires from the fuse.

The next day, trembling in the queue,
While the assistants mock and stare.
How could a creep and cheapo like you,
Go out with our princess fair?

It's his turn next, all dry and suave,
The universe on the edge of its seat.
'Did you, sort of like, read my card?'
'Oh sorry, tomorrow, me forget.'
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow's too late,
And still there's the matter of speaking to her,
And admitting his life isn't quite so super.

Date mostly written: 1980