Miss Ting wants to go into the world
house and balcony are too small
bird watching is frustratingly pleasant
and playing and twirling with us
isn't ít, we know, so small
are our leaps and vocabulary

Miss Ting sings My Man
She mews the world upside down
for Maurice Chevalier, the king
of Spain and the princes
of India and England, laughing
she plays with their crowns

Her Man, she cannot live without
He is in her skin, on her knees
she would come back if she went

because he growls and claws at her
and secretly attends his darlings
Oh, his strength keeps vibrating
in every hair she loses
glowing in her, on the edge
of every cell of bliss