Tapas - the poetry and politics of dating an x

You said I was a, Dog Soldier
and I thought you were just being politically poetic
but this is now a bone of contention between us.

I mistook your look as something close to sympathetic
when you said I was, Still Living and Working on the Front Line
that I, Must Just Like It That Way¦

I have nothing to say after this day of mine
so I will stare at the plates.
While you bite into your naughty lamb shank,
you have the guts, the gall
to pun about me living on the estate '
to accuse me of Poetical Correctness.

I ask you, How Is Your Business?
You say, Stressful Everyone is So Stressed Out
and then give a lengthy blow by blow account
of the things you had witnessed,
how life was, Cruel
for example, She Is Having Such Terrible Terrible Trouble
Getting Her Youngest
Into This Or That Private School¦

I want to be comprehensive but
I have nothing to say after the day I have had.
She wants me,
offers me a vacancy and passes the ad.
and this tapas interview becomes the Spanish Inquisition.

I could accuse you of the missionary imposition
as you evangelise,
an empathic chat show priestess
who always gets the guest to confession.
You say, It is a Masochistic Profession
that, Surely I didn't Need It Anymore¦
instead, I should become your Bitch
your whore as you pay the bill
and offer a fair trade cup of coffee
back up in Muswell Hill.

I'm a cheap date and as soft as a pup
and you want to pet and poke
your very own Bit Of Rough.
You wish me to smooth the edges of your day
but I am a diamond
and would cut you up.

I ask you to take me back down to my barracks
Where I can happily share all that I have to trade
With my dog soldiering-on flat sharing comrades.

I am a dog soldier but I'm nobody's bitch
You used to think I was Just Doing Some Sick Penance
That I'd changed, taken on new tenets, taken in new tenants:
No ' I am a dog soldier
And I do not want to patrol around your vigilant desires,
To guard your fence from the wolfish bandits who are coming up the hill.
You know the simple things that I believe,
You know that I would brush their jagged teeth before they leave.

You drop me off psycho-agonising.
You ask, Are You Still Afraid Of Commitment?
From your warm, leather, electric heated touch button reclining seat
You say, I'll Call You ' When Can We Meet?
You are strapped in safely to your metal clit extension worth more still
Than those three academic years I spent paying your bill.
I remember your sweet and clever back then joke to me;
I was always giving you, The 3rd Degree¦

I have run out of ears and words to play with.
I always liked your wit.
I am barking mad but will not rub your nose in it.
I have nothing to say after the day I have had.
You think this is, An Offer Too Good To Refuse
and that, I Should Be Glad;
but scooping your kind of poop
Is just not my kind of bag.

We all go where we will.
I said, We All Go Where We Will
I tell you to lock your low wood chop clunk of a closing door
And watch your sleek superior exterior
Slink back up to Muswell Hill.