Some one is bending over and copping it badly.
They know who they are.
They are a disgrace.
They are poor writers.
Into the Wok I drive tonight
Down into the heart of the balmy city
As I drive a voice comes on the radio and says:
'The Wok has been crowned food capital of the North Coast'
Down the laneway I took you
You wanted sex
I wanted you
We copulated on the bitumen
I stand in speckled light
The shade is uncompromising this time of year
I hear children laughing and playing
Their voices become cheerful echoes in the