Sunk in the shallow end


i met a man 

who liked his poems straight,

his coffee sweet

and his lady  lacking… having nothing but for him

so i have no idea 

why…

i showed 

him 

a poem i wrote

“it is lacking form but

i could swim in your eyes forever ”

he said 

offering me poesy

as though she were Gouda on a cracker

or a floatie

i am not sure which,

but i assume 

he thought me 

to be 

some type of pool

(or fool)

?

and his lines…some type of flotation device

?

he splashed about 

throwing floaties at me 

for awhile 

and so on and 

so forth

’til 

he sunk in the shallow end

loving form

lacking substance

never really giving himself the chance

to cross the line 

which separates

the boys 

from where women swim 

in the deep end 

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