© Pile of Crock

The crockpot died last night
Right in the middle of making supper
Taking with it our last supper
And all the innuendo that goes with it
Remember when I wore
Gigantic glasses decades after Sir
Elton John and passersby stopped
And photographed me believing I was famous
What guy doesn’t love that
“Sweet looking ride” and reading books
About the Art of Manliness
And creating an entirely new beast
Geeky Yoga dork survives
Humiliates the unbendable
And squeezes them into
A canvas of light and despair
Saying you can see right through me
Brought a round of laughter
To the ears of those surrounding us
They knew you were missing much
Dancers understand how their art
Is a perpendicular
Expression of that infamous
Horizontal desire
Poets fluent in words of love
Guarantee success and happiness
And Promises of marriage
If you move away and wed another
You showed me your rose garden
Wishing me to stop and smell them
But you neglected to add
You recently covered them with manure
Your past precedes you
I answered when you asked for a date
I never wanted a white knight on a steed
And you never brought a present
Life is not a bowl of cherries
The bowl broke and I’m just as wicked as you
When we are buried perhaps they’ll write
There lies a pile of crock
Image may contain: 1 person
Mona Arizona
All Rights Reserved

(photo is not mine and it is not me; all rights belong to the owner: this is Femme)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s