Paean On a Cute Antipodean
Skype tells me it’s your birthday, Polly Ross,
a disembodied message from the ether
that nipped me like a redback. “Southern Cross” –
remember that? So, hurl it in my teeth, or
delete me, tweet me, blank me, come across –
do what you will, I’m living with the loss.
You probably no longer give a toss.
If only I’d a cooler glamour-gloss,
could be more Aussie actor (Meller? Heather?)
you’d see the gold, and set aside the dross.
I miss you, need you. There. But you’re the boss …
Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017
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