Why does every story seem to end up in the same place?
Dark, gloomy, serious, troubling, depressing.
Too many questions; not enough answers.
Too much philosophy; not enough happiness.
Can’t there just be life, with its twists and turns,
and oblivious meaninglessness?
Must one be tall, dark and handsome?
Cannot one be tall, bright, and beautiful?
Speaking of which, does handsome imply slender, too,
or can one be portly and still match the description?
Rounded features can be good-looking, can’t they?
Consider what’s in front of me, just to my left.
Narrow at the top, broader at the shoulders,
thinning at the waist, thicker at the hips, with short, stubby legs.
Imagine asking this one out on a date. Or not.
A brilliant blue top, no trousers, and a transparent look all around,
except for the hard cap and necklace.
“Aquafina: pure water, perfect taste” it reads on the label.
A little further on, there’s one that can’t get enough, it seems.
Open for business, wants all it can get.
Invites everyone to plug in and get a charge.
Of course, that can be taken as many ways as one wants.
Literally, euphemistically, you name it.
Tripp-Lite it says. The splendid splinter, trim as can be,
full of the juice of life.
Don’t want to give tongue here, though.
That’d be the end of love for you.
Shocking, really. No power stripping for you.
Written in a prison computer classroom June 6, 2018. Sometimes you have to write just to write, and you use whatever sits around you to overcome writer's block. Don't take me too seriously with this one.