Ever the pessimist, I
Believed my special woman was
Engulfed
In Time’s unremitting cascade,
And I would be forced to bondage by a female,
Who would supply me no solace after
My struggles with the world,
Or I’d end up in the Purgatory of
Loneliness.
All this,
Until that fateful day,
In the place where hungry ones gather,
I met ...
Her.
One of the few who balanced
A delicate demeanor, rational mind, and
Career ambition.
She too was displeased with her peers,
Wishing that she could cease their
Boisterous tendencies,
And lead them back to feminine
Softness.
Smoothly swimming through the sea of our conversation,
Winning seven treasures,
Each bearing their own digit,
And when combined,
Would be what I needed to achieve
True victory!
I thought.
I used them to dispel the distant barrier
Between us, but,
As I neared where I thought she was,
I saw naught but a note, which read:
“Sorry,
But your princess is in
Another man’s castle.”
I knew Fate was sitting in her living room,
Watching my actions like
Re-runs of some ancient sitcom,
Seeing the same scenario play out with
Thousands of men
On her all-channel hookup,
But luxuriating in laughter
Nonetheless.
Of course, I shared not her
Sentiments.
Still I sought her out,
Asked her to throw down her locks,
So I could scale that castle,
And she could advance to the
Better model.
But alas, she stayed with the
Devil she knew.
Of course, I’m no stranger to
Rejection.
In his tavern, a “reserved” sign sat
Solemnly near the bar, and
Ice cubes crackled in a glass
Just for me.
But Rejection can concoct no potion
Potent enough to
Block the image of her
Hershey’s chocolate face
With almond-eyes included
Or stop me from envisioning the euphoria I’d feel
If her skin was ever pressed against
My own.
Nor would it obstruct the echoes of her
Button-cute diction,
Showing her small town origin
And the erotic announcements of her
Purple High-heel boots,
Clip-clopping through the corridors of my
Conscious.
But even though this dame was
One I could not have,
She still saw fit to grant me the
Gracious gift of
Belief.
Who knows?
Some other sweet, gentle woman could be out there,
Living day-to-day, as I do,
Waiting for our paths to cross.
Mmm ... I doubt it.
But despite unlikelihood,
I still
Hope.
YOU ARE READING
Romantically Incorrect
PoesiaBorn, raised, and currently living in Detroit, Michigan, Morgan Coby is a combination of many different things around him: the gritty realities of the city where he dwells, and the wondrous idealism from the fictional worlds of stories, cartoons, an...
