My LPs in the juke-box
Regret that I have not pressed my lips
Against the knees of the fat black woman
With the piercing looks
Who, With no sophisticated weapons,
Stops a robber in a bar
And bites him lightly on his bloated neck
So that he could smile,
For the police arrive late as usual.
When you are in the Juke-Box
The flirtatious black woman
Looks like the winter of what is left of golden lead.
I don't want to get accustomed
To the Juke-Box
As a bad critic would get accustomed
To the mouth of a woman infected with aids.