Thursday, September 26, 2013

V. 2, #181: September 26, 2013

I figured you'd be up and gone by now.
No one would blame you for capitulation,
I know I make a mess of things, and how.
Most women would require a stipulation

regarding end dates on this love affair;
They'd specify a bunch of exit clauses
to let them out should I seem not to care
about their favorite films and cherished causes.

They'd tell me I would have to get in shape,
to trim my beard, forsaking all tattooing,
to act more like a man, and less an ape.
It's clear, my love, you don't know what you're doing.

Yet there you sit, demure and undemanding.
But wherefore is beyond my understanding.

1 comment:

Scott said...

Not that it matters, but I feel driven to note that the speaker of this poem is *not* necessarily the poet himself.

Necessarily. ;)