Your Fake Roses

Jane has gone to spend a penny
but it will probably be a pound
I'm waiting for her in this restaurant
chasing the tired horses of my mind

it's not the best place to think of the past
amongst the stained tablecloths
the grubby glasses
i feel all my talents have become compromises
like the waiter's gift of silk roses

Jane returns from the lavatory
pays the bill for my thoughts
i tell her its just indigestion
that always calls the shots