
with my mom. She complains of /
old age. I don’t mind.
Living on the lake, /
there’s lots I could do, but just/
one thing I should do.
The question isn’t/
if writing’s good or bad, but/
if it feeds your soul.
You may teach a man/
to fish, but if he won’t go/
where they swim, he’ll starve.
What would it take to/
be the man with her weekends/
and for forever?
While waiting for her /
to maybe call,/
I hope she’s as pure/
as those who have no gall.
She’s playing with me,/
but I don’t mind./
For a good woman like rubies/
is usually hard to find.
Of course her name/
could belie her personality./
Maybe it’s just a game./
Maybe she’s just BSing me.
Only by waiting her out will I ever discover/
beyond any doubt if she’d be a purifying lover.