Spilled ink – Page 59 – A (wise) man of two faces

Menagerie

Ladies who love beards,
we are proud to announce the
petting zoo’s open.

Smoke signal in the sky
but is it a lie, but is it a lie?
A vaporous tell
of things great and fell
but is it a lie, but is it a lie…

I wrote a woman
a poem about forgetting
my pants before work.

I do not need a lecture
of your holier-than-thou conjecture.
I know you’re well-meaning
but I find it unseeming –
yours is not my scripture.

Judge not my haiku,
they are just the ramblings
of a tired man.

I adjust my seat,
refill my drink and popcorn,
and watch the drama.

Baby, I’m still missing you,
wishing I was kissing you
but you drove away
one dark and lonely day;
that’s what I get for pissing you – off.

Stern-faced CEO,
you look so strong, standing there
in tiger whities.

She wore her widow’s weeds,
black as the night she lost him.

She uncovered the deeds,
green as his face when she caught him.

She remembered the rage,
red as the knife that stopped him.

She turned the page,
blanc as the new life before her.

Sometimes there are days
when the best you can manage
is more gray than good.