Televisual Poem by Peter Rogerson

Why can't I be like the man on TV
With the natural smile and Silvikrin hair
With a flick of his perfectly manicured fingers
He summons the waiter who patiently lingers
Awaiting the call of the
Master of all he can see

She glides through the door, throws her coat to the floor
A willowy model with nose in the air
As she kisses the cheek of the man of her dream
He moistens her lips with a peppermint cream
And fondles her dress as
He gently caresses her knee

The staff bring her coat, as down her slim throat
Slides the mint which has toyed with her taste.
They don't pay the bill, have a drink at the bar,
And laughing they leave in a fabulous car
And he fastens his hand
Round the delicate band of her waist