Perhaps It Was As Was All Was What Was Meant To Be

I spend many a night of the month of May, July, or September, gazing at the sky

My eyes can't seem to comprehend the way the diamonds dance, shimmy and even fly

Monotone is my utterances under breath they sound as I feel unable to tell a lie

Except a white one, dressed up as cloud that hovers into my view like a fluffy fly

#

the kind that won't stop landing on your arm when you're in that beer garden you

love, the one you know the one with the cute barmaid, waitress, or server who

tells you how good your aftershave smells, but you don't have the heart to tell

its just your soap, your soap for sensitive, flaking skin, from her that'd repel

#

so, instead you nod your nod and she smiles her smiles, and then that damn fly

that damn fly starts to fly and you wonder why you want to cry as the damn fly

won't leave you alone, as you stare alone without the server, and just oh well

it now feels like she's looking at you with big eyes, bug eyes, or surprise

or are they the same thing in this modern day love quest, where you're supressed

#

she looks at you with take me home eyes and you look at her with an open fly

did she see, did she see? You wonder, as you zip it up. did she see the open fly

now you're looking at her with the curious eye of a private eye, catching a lie

a lie that somehow a husband is with his accountant and not the sexy Mexican maid

#

as you stare at her as you stare at the cheque, the bill, you wonder why

why you need to pay the best part of less than the cost of a fish supper for fly

juice, it's fly juice now as the fly has pal flies flying around the fly juice

that was a gine and tonic, at some point last week maybe, you tip with change loose

#

and just as you are about to seal the deal, the wheels in your plan come off

as you reach out to tap her shoulder, the boulder that smashes it all, a goth

younger, lankier, deader behind the eyes than those guys in that one film

takes her by the hand and commands her attention like him in that one film

#

so the morale of the tail, is that the sail set on our hero's one chance

chance chance to perchance a dance with the fance-y barkeep server...

he sat with his gine and fly juice as the server deserted with the goth

leaving her post to be taken up by an unattractive, to him, fat server goth

#

as his eyes traced the sun dipping from the sky into a cloudy bubble bath

he had to give the goth, the slim one that walked away with server, goth

not the fat goth that replaced server goth, for he got the server, goth

perhaps it was as was all was what was meant to be, as life happens on the fly

perhaps our hero among fat goths and fly juice gine, was meant for the fly

romance, bromance, modern love story in the month of June, to the tune

of love's labour's lost by a guy who wears a Thai tie, probably and a single hairy, deadly, spindle-legged like a spider but different, lonesome poop pounder

fl@

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: First entry into the Best Bad Poetry Competition. And attempt at a good bad poem. I am not sorry for the crimes committed in the above atrocity. You're all welcome.

I am currently still writing for Vocal and Medium, but also branching out, finally, having submitted some pieces to online publications and non-Vocal competitions, thanks to encouragement from my pal, Stephen A. Roddewig! So we shall see.

Details can be found below:

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