Sunday, 17 August 2014

August 17: Just not my type ...

I was standing there, next in line
“One short black”, it wasn’t mine
Then I overheard this short exchange
By some ladies within hearing range

My current man is not my type
I’m over all his bullshit hype
He sends me stuff I do not want
I need advice, should I confront

Flick him quickly, send a note
Buy a heavy, hooded coat
When you see him look away
Then he’ll be gone, less than a day

Another email, professing his desire
He thinks he really lights my fire
I’ve had it really, up to here
Eject him from my stratosphere

I grabbed my coffee, and my toast
And in my head I heard the roast
That she would serve him when they spoke
I think he'll be needing rum and coke

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