So I forgive you
for the wheel-barrel full of gin
you drank, that balmy August night
behind the shed when you thought
no one was looking, you fingered
my blouse buttons and slopped
a wet kiss on my mouth.
Do you always drink that much
to muster courage?
I'm sure being a boozy lech
doesn't help. My point is,
I have no hard feelings
about your drunken shenanigans.
Sure you moved on, finding
a more pliable girl.
Only natural. I expect men
not to try too hard.
Why should they?
There are plenty of easy
laz-about Susans. Why work for it
if you don't have to?
See, the thing is - I liked you.
I was willing to go there, but not
like that. You, slurring words,
about to up-chuck your corn-dog
and Dorritos. But that is neither here
nor there, so many years ago,
I barely remember the details.
I just want you to know
I understand your reasons
for passing me by
to ruminate in richer pastures.
Why milk the cow,
when milk is so white and workaday?
Better to have it slaughtered.
De-skinned, eviscerated, then split
into primal cuts. Grill up
some choice prime rib steaks
with garlic to taste, and of course,
heavily oiled with extra virgin olive.
See, I get you.