AM I THE ONLY ONE . . . who can get a little flippant now and again?

Every so often I write something that makes no sense at all. (To my son, it’s nearly everything I write) When that happens, I usually don’t throw it away, I just store it someplace and hope that one day I’ll be more enthused about making use of it.  Often, by the time I’m finished with it, there is no resemblance between the finished product and the original thoughts that brought about its existence.  

Such was very much the case with the following poem.  I have no idea what inspired me to write it and it’s not about anyone that I know and yet, it could be about any number of the guys I know.  It just sort of popped into my mind. 

©R.L.King2012 – From the book Wanderin & Wonderin

He was a Minuteman; she, his soon-to-be lover.
T’was more than a title, she soon would discover

A minute to kiss her, a minute to converse,
a minute to convince her then, “Don’t ferget yer purse.”

A minute to the car, ten more to her pad,
a minute in the elevator, this begins to git sad.

A minute to her door, a minute to undress,
a minute to finish, more or less.

A minute to apologize, another to re-dress,
a minute to find the door, at least that’s my guess.

He was a Minuteman, she was his lover.
Twas more than a title, she soon did discover.


Gramps use’ta say
©R.L.King2012 #236

About: Luck

“When it gits right down to the nitty gritty,
…most-times, skill beats luck.


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