The Spoiled Brat and the Showgirl. (A Surreal Satire).

I will bang you up in a tiny gold cage
Hung down low from my penthouse ceiling
On a slowly revolving armature.-
I will make a study of your moods and
                                        expressions,
Your daily paint job and changes of hair,
Every Nick n Tuck and disguised laugh line.
I will record all this on my mini Laptop
With an immaculate eye for precision,
That is as near as damn it, perfection.
         & All this I shall do
         As you look out at me
         Or        away from me,
But your freedom cannot be an option.

And then, when I lunch in, I will feed you
On coconuts          cherries         cheese
Apricots             pineapples           pears
Chocolates     cranberries     mushy peas
              If you want it so,
Not feed you at all
                              If you want it so,
Or shoot you dead
                              If you want it so,
Which, according to your Centre Fold sister
Is better than being starved to a whisker,
However,
      To return to the gist of this poem,
      I being ever your obliging keeper
      Must surely defer to your pleasure,
But your freedom cannot be an option.

And then, when it is time for bed,
I will sometimes let you wander
Thru the rooms of my sky high mansion
That I purchased the hour we were wed;
But,
If you try to launch out from the balcony,
      My Bird Catcher Net is set ready
      To swoop down over your head.
I have purchased all this to impress you,
But if you want to get out you`ll be sorry,
      Freedom cannot be an option,
Not for love, nor for yacht loads of money,
Not for you,                   Not for anyone!

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 20th. 1964. - February 20th. -  22nd. 2013.