The kitchen smells of popcorn, burnt. The living room is buried
Beneath layers of discarded clothes. The pride I feel when I'm
At large with Cheryl, she's an ingenue, diminish when I'm back
At home. I've found that there's no little labor to exert to keep
Her Highness with me as the days go by. I'm not a youthful
Swain. I'm just a guy who has a lot of money. She may leave
At any time. I'm sure she will. I'm not so sure that I'll be crushed
To see her go. I'll miss the looks of envy on the other ancients
In the club, but I'd prefer to have her intimates off of my
Furniture, and, Jesus, how I'd like free my kitchen from that
Awful smell. I'll lose a little, gain a bit, when Cheryl moves along.