Daddy’s little princess turned out with the trash
by a fast young man who could wear a suit
and shoot the breeze from the wheel of a Pontiac Bonneville.
Your baby doesn’t love you anymore.
Candy waits for Brad to call, her thoughts full
of his blue serge suit and player's jaw.
A cheated sweetheart not quite pretty or complete;
her yellow hair throws curves and she cries silver.
You won’t be seeing rainbows anymore.
A thin faced New Yorker stands in front of her
neurosis stretched across his canvas sheet.
And Roy declares in hard black lines
a scene with dots that replicate a moment -
It’s over.
It’s over.
It’s over.
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