I rue the day we ever met, for

she never knows when to stop,

her warehouse space enormous

she's a twenty-four-hour shop

 

my paramour Alma is an amazon

one that always delivers on time,

her supply chain quite amazing

while she knows prices to a dime

 

yet there's a fatal flaw in big Alma

true, she makes out without fail,

but she's a sad blow-up doll when

you're craving a bit of real tail

 

I require a woman not heartless

who loves men for themselves,

not an automat monopolising

the planet from infinite shelves

 

I'm going back to the High Street

damp, chilly but lots of fresh air,

and girls of flesh and blood with

whom Alma cannot compare