she is pretty damned well sure
of all of what she thinks she knows;
but she knows what's hidden,
and she also knows what shows;

she is confident that she hasn't a care,
well maybe one or two, but hey
she has more than one clue,
and waves off troubles with an airy aire;

she believes that if the wind blows,
and she closes the windows,
that the wind won't really be there;

I thought that she was the cat's PJs,
but learned that there were many other ways
to skin one, and that she was just one
of many, many entrees, but hey,
I learn something new everyday;

I always thought that her heart was so deep,
and maybe it is, even with secrets to keep;
but she turned so cold, so old, so schooled,
it took me by surprise, and I realized,
hey, you don't even know more than the cover,
so the rest of her book is something that is
still left undiscovered, still covered --
hidden --
maybe she is not the kind
who will stick in your mind,
maybe she is just not the one to be your lover;

and then I decided to change my mind,
I would leave criticism for another day,
maybe then I will be lucky enough to find,
something really, really, good to say,
about someone who could have been the kind
who I would keep for the rest of time;

but no, we were transmitting on different
frequencies, and that's what really made
a difference to me, so I am selling my radio,
and we will see how far it will go,
likely nowhere;

and I will gladly take the slim chances
that the real world advances,
and spend all of my limited time,
spend even my last dime,
with the Wifey, who, completely sublime,
is easily worth ten of her,
time after time after time.


July 23 & 24, 2009. If you think this is about you, you're just like Warren Beatty. And yes, I do know Carly.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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