Post by David Nelson Bradsher on Jul 16, 2009 13:28:50 GMT -5
It Was the Rum
I got them from my mom at Christmas? No!
They came from you, a pair in navy blue
and one in grey, completed with a bow
across the crotch. Oh, I know that you
prefer pentameter. Alas, your style
is hit-or-miss, much like my Friday nights.
The night I met you was a miss, but I’ll
just blame it on the rum and neon lights.
A freely-worded dame in formal wear
can fool a smashed practitioner of rhyme,
but only when her comely ass is bare
and he’s too drunk to manage keeping time.
Yes, I was drunk. Too drunk on rum and pleasure
to note your words (and moves) were out of measure.
*In answer to Maggie's "Brief Interlude, My Ass", which was in answer to my "Brief Interlude".
I got them from my mom at Christmas? No!
They came from you, a pair in navy blue
and one in grey, completed with a bow
across the crotch. Oh, I know that you
prefer pentameter. Alas, your style
is hit-or-miss, much like my Friday nights.
The night I met you was a miss, but I’ll
just blame it on the rum and neon lights.
A freely-worded dame in formal wear
can fool a smashed practitioner of rhyme,
but only when her comely ass is bare
and he’s too drunk to manage keeping time.
Yes, I was drunk. Too drunk on rum and pleasure
to note your words (and moves) were out of measure.
*In answer to Maggie's "Brief Interlude, My Ass", which was in answer to my "Brief Interlude".
