Back Next Noodle

And here I had this work
This poor soul
Who would bring me no immediate reward
But would sit there week after week
Like a limp choked-up noodle
What could he do for my fantasy life?
Such a sniffling smelly specimen
Oh god
Bring me caviar and champagne
And sprinkle England's springtime air upon me.

Irwin R. Shaw - December 28th 1982