THE LOOKER (Warning - may cause offence)

Sometimes he sure he's a pervert
Some sort of 'dirty old man',
Some days he's sure its 'an illness'
Some other can carry the can.

He leers at most women he passes
It's his way of just passing time,
To look has become an addiction
Just looking is surely no crime?

Women he views as mere statues
To be viewed by his art lovers eye,
He looks at their legs with a longing
And longs for a brief glimpse of thigh.

His aim is to skirt closely by them
To see all the way up their skirts,
He yearns for a gal who's 'commando'
A yearning so strong that it hurts.

Cleavage will e'er pique his interest
He'll peek at a 'peekaboo' breast,
A 'flash' from a woman who's braless
Is the sight which he cites as best.

On occasions a woman will catch him
A few catch his eye in return,
He hasn't the bottle to face them
As red-faced the shame starts to burn.

He scuttles away in an instant
This instance he vows is the last,
In a moment that promise is broken
The moment a woman walks past.

Sometimes he sure he's a pervert
Some sort of 'dirty old man',
Some days he's sure its 'an illness'
Some other can carry the can.

Copyright DM Pamment 26th April 2009