How true. How true. How sad. How blue.

Are all these would-be lovers' machinations,
(Some spurred by hope, and others by predations),
That end with feeling smug or feeling lonely,
Accomplished in the said four minuters only?

Alas,
Society has come to this
But I remember when
She did as she was told
Or I would lock her in her pen.

Then one rowdy, drunken night
I recall with dark despair
Life took a turn for much the worse
I lost my grip upon her hair.

Oops, I just noticed a typo in my poem! Can't have that, because then it scans wrong (not to mention making no sense :-)). So, here's the correction:

Are all these would-be lovers' machinations,
(Some spurred by hope, and others by predations),
That end with feeling smug or feeling lonely,
Accomplished in the said four minutes only?

As someone who just moved from the Greenwich area to Manhattan, this really hits home! As a middle aged guy, watching the dance of those that live four to a junior four is very fascinating. There is the entire layer of young 20-something transients doing exactly the above.

Us old farts are just happy the liquor stores are now open on Sunday!