Rondeau Redoublé
There are so many kinds of awful men —
One can't avoid them all. She often said
She'd never make the same mistake again:
She always made a new mistake instead.
The chinless type who made her feel ill-bred;
The practised charmer, less than charming when
He talked about the wife and kids and fled —
There are so many kinds of awful men.
The half-crazed hippy, deeply into Zen,
Whose cryptic homilies she came to dread;
The fervent youth who worshipped Tony Benn —
‘One can't avoid them all,' she often said.
The ageing banker, rich and overfed,
Who held forth on the dollar and the yen —
Though there were many more mistakes ahead,
She'd never make the same mistake again.
The budding poet, scribbling in his den
Odes not to her but to his p**y, Fred;
The drunk who fell asleep at nine or ten —
She always made a new mistake instead.
And so the gambler was at least unwed
And didn't preach or sneer or wield a pen
Or hoard his wealth or take the Scotch to bed.
She'd lived and learned and lived and learned but then
There are so many kinds.