He was a strange combinationPart what fathers in movies
call a romantic little foolPart what fathers in Russian
novels call a depraved egoistHe won't be missed,
I'll persistFirst he would fall in love like a building
implodingAnd not be able to control his emotingThen
he would spend a few speechless weeksGoggling his beloved
and reading Keats and reading Dante'sNext if she gave
him a sign, he'd send flowers for a timeThen in one
magnificent gestureHe could transform himself into
a BluebeardBut not just an ordinary run of the mill
BluebeardOne who was a lecher then he'll put her out
to pastureWhat does this have to do with the future?I'm
not too sureWhat does this have to do with the present?It doesn't