Funny Little Friend
A poem
Funny Little Friend
I’ve logged off work early
on a Friday afternoon, so this means
I have extra time to enjoy my weekend.
Being single and available,
you would think I would have something
to do — a date lined up, a sweetheart.
But there is no one on my dance card
just yet. I’ve tried online dating,
but only ended up with responses from
some trashy nutballs and rangy meatsacks.
So much for sowing my wild oats —
I’m too old anyhow…and isn’t oatmeal
just so bland? I’ve settled for munching
in front of the television,
having gained a few pounds…
the therapist in me would say I’m eating
away the hole my friend left
when he went away. I’m no psychologist,
but these cheese balls just aren’t
plugging the emptiness. Then insanity
is me trying it again this Friday night.
Such is life in a house with a single person
who is alone most of their days.
I settle on the back step, look out
at the lawn and muse how funny it is
that the grass looks so much like
overgrown hair — that needs a haircut.
Need to ask my son to mow soon.
Just like hair, though, it’ll keep growing —
and we keep cutting. Whoever came up
with this absurd arrangement?
It just never ends!
I notice another dusted tan lacewing
on one of the overgrown blades —
they seem to be here each time
I come outside — or is this just the same one
showing up over and over again?
Something catches my eye to the right
of me, down…
