Joanne,
you have an immaculately horrible taste in men
that’s why you plotted me
to report one to you
I watched every one of his moves
Living in the groove
Joanne, I came to conclusion you deserve better
You can tell a man by the way he tells his jokes
Yours is confident, drawing every eye to him,
A focal point,
A perfect delivery, whether the joke is funny or not
Observing him closely,
I fail to understand why you fell in love with him
Did he make you drink magical milk from a golden goblet
Covered with thin white veil
And lavished with crystal opals,
Running across the circumference
Did he pour some mystic love potion
He perhaps borrowed from Aphrodite
Were you blindfolded when you drank it?
Joanne,
He is a simple man
But it is not fair
five times prayer
yet still a player
sometimes he is infuriating
him not understanding the complexity
of politics, lives, rights and feelings
his mundane taste in music and movies
his obsession with numbers
his unbridled bigotry
you want to tie him down and make him understand
but in the end, deep down you envy his simplicity
he is what you are not; happy
Joanne,
You can tell a man by how he mourns
And I never saw him cry let alone grieve
His heart is made of stones
Though he is pretty good at comforting
When you’re down
He festoons around your shoulder, his arms
It almost catches you off-guard
Joanne,
He is intimate, but you will have to beg for it
Not everyone looks pretty when they cry
And you will fail terribly, I know you are timid and shy
His words are sweet, you can taste them
But they leave an aftertaste in your mouth
A tang of diplomacy and sycophancy, no doubt
Joanne,
When I began to see why you love him
I can’t blame you
He exudes an aroma of fortitude
Once the fondness becomes love,
And doesn’t get subdued
It will turn into worship
And thus I conclude
You deserve better
But he is the best
Joanne,
you haven’t replied to my letter
I became an encyclopedia of a man
All for you
And now I don’t even know where you ran
Where did you go? I don’t understand
You left me all alone here
Sometimes I think you can’t even feel
And wonder
Joanne,
Are you even real?
Joanne
Are you real?
This is one of my favorite pieces I've ever written