Mail Order Bride
He glances through albums of photos
Mostly oriental ladies with a grin or a blank stare
All with very similar details,
Desperate to come to the West
For the riches they imagine are there.
He wants a wife but is not that interested really
He spent more effort choosing his car
But it's time he settled,
After very little success with local women
He's shipping one in from afar.
She sits there in Blow Job City
Hoping her smile looked sweet and pretty,
Hoping her hardness doesn't show through
With the siblings she has to take care of
And all the work she has to do.
She hopes it won't be too long,
She has closed her heart to any love song.
She arrives in London on a day the sun never shone
Meets him for the first time
As he takes her home
To an environment almost as desperate and squalid
As what she has come from.
She's a dutiful wife,
Neat, attentive and clean,
Keeps the home in order
While he watches TV.
Every Thursday without fail he takes her to the bank,
The money wings it's way back
To the hungry hearts who wait.
He has housed her in a small apartment on the thirteenth floor,
She gazes from the window
Too afraid to go out alone,
She feeds him dinners as the TV drones . . . .
Once she thought she heard a little whisper
Of an oriental melody,
It was coming from the corner
From the Chinese Takeaway.
It reminded her of a song she knew so long ago
About a little jewelled bird captured in a cage . . . .
She danced a few steps there on the cold stone balcony,
The hand movements and tiny gestures
Dispalyed so gracefully.
Her husband had the football on,
Never noticed or came near,
Passive and collected
She wiped away a tear . . . .