An eye-patched man came through the space café
Patting a boy on the back, he had this to say:
“Listen, everyone,” in a voice filled with delight
“This young gent had his first one tonight!”
All the patrons let out a drunken cheer
Cups clasped in their hands filled with alien beer
“Buy the boy a drink, then!” said one woman, “get in line!
It’s not every night one gets to celebrate their first time.”
When the boy settled down with green beer in his hand
The pub chanted and wailed like an unruly band,
“So tell us, oh tell us, what was it like?”
The boy bit his lip and smiled in the neon light:
“It was awkward, and quick,” the boy admitted
“But I know that after tonight, I am committed.”
The pub cheered again, and a woman came forward,
Dressed in black leather, she looked like a warrior.
“My first time was something I’ll never forget;
Our hands on each other; slow, and passionate
And the screaming…” smiled the woman playfully;
“You’ll want more, kid, there’s bigger fish in the sea.”
“My first time,” reminisced the man with a patch over his eye,
“Was very emotional. The night after, I cried.
Because I knew at that moment I’d never again
Have the innocence I had before I shot that man.”
For in the space café only mercenaries enter
And their talk of first times is the first ones they’ve murdered.