A frigging loveless poem,
that’s what’s rattling
around in my brain,
a damn loveless poem.
I wanted to write about
the oddness of 4/20 as a
date and its historical
significance in the modern era.
Instead my brain has me
feeling nervous that my
stupid fingers will never
again caress the cheek of a lover.
A lover in the true sense,
one that loves me even though
I might have avoided taking the
garbage out even though I said I’d do it.
My brain is terrified of never
being appreciated by the sweet
smiling eyes of my sweetie-pie as
she shakes her head at my foolishness.
I don’t know if it’s because of the
Spring in the air, or the sunshine,
but my brain is wholly focused on
the terror of loneliness.
The guy in the mirror this morning
had a horrified look in his eyes as
he considered the possibility of
Of course, then he laughed because
who could a believe a thing like that,
I’m a swell enough fella, right?
So now my brain is like some
crazy brain, wired into the ticking
of my own peculiar biological
My brain keeps checking that clock,
“Are you married yet,” he asks over
and over again.
“No, not yet, Damn Brain,” I’ll say.
“Okay, hurry up before I get
all senile and ornery,” he’ll say.
“Aren’t you already ornery,” I ask.
“Watch it buddy, I got my finger on the button up here.”
A grumble in my stomach,
“No Don’t! I’ll take care of it, Jeeze,” I say.
“That’s what I thought,” he’ll say.
My body relaxes.
My brain just wants to be loved,
and he’s terrified it’ll never happen
for him. So the loveless poems will
rattle around in there some more.
Till one shakes loose.