What was it all about Alfie, back in the early sixties,
you and all those women? Always on the pull
a bird in the hand and two in the bush,
that was your style. Treat them mean, keep them keen.
They were too weren’t they? Poor cows!
Then one had your baby, called him Malcolm.
You never forgave her that transgression.
She married a nice, steady, man who adored her
even though she was still in love with you.
They all fell in love with you Alfie, went down
like ten pin bowls down a bowling alley, head over heels.
Then you had affairs with married women
they were grateful and accommodating,
until lesson not learned, one fell pregnant.
She had to get rid of it, you helped get her
a back street abortionist, put her life in danger.
She never wanted to see you again after that,
you were glad, even you couldn’t look her in the eye.
It would be forever imprinted on your mind, that image,
you having to dispose of her dead foetus, a perfect baby.
You decided to settle down with good old Ruby,
But guess what? She’d traded you in for a younger model.
So did you ever really learn what it was all about, Alfie?
© Carolina de la Cruz – 17th April 2012