AS BOWIE SANG.

[dadio]

Tolstoy’s War and Peace
On the side still unread
And the cigarette burning
In the brass ashtray and
She lying there gazing at
His photograph trying not
To snigger or laugh as the
Image in her mind of his
Pathetic penis of the week
Before and the bed recovered
And the record of Bowie’s
Best hits sitting on the record
Deck no longer played just a
Memory now of how hard her
Man tried to get a hard on
Listening to that old Bowie song.