Our love is like a kiss in a dream
but it doesn't seem
real, somehow.
You are like a girl in a magazine,
something all the other boys have seen
with steam coming out of their ears;
skimpy top, proud chest out to there,
blonde and wild tumbling hair,
plus those outrageous cutoffs.
Is this you
or something you are trying to do?
You fell in love with my car (before me)
because the paintwork glows like Venus
and cars don't have a penis.
Idiot boys are fine
but shopping is divine
things, things, things
and make-up
why break up?
I look good beside you,
tall and tanned, expensive clothes,
nobody knows
how little you care
except me.
I have a little surprise for you
tomorrow
a little drop of sorrow.
Seduced by stranger's eyes
you don't realize
I come from West Belfast.
(you never asked)
a fleeting recognition
when you turn that car ignition
will be your last.
Bye-bye, American pie,
I'm heading down to Mexico,
contrite, polite,
looking for a fiercely blushing virgin
and a pistolero father
who would kill me as soon
as look at me, and I might possibly
have ten children.
