Cupid's Misfire
Though often called by lovers
for my wicked deadly aim
when I sight with an arrow
and I chant the whispered name.
Sometimes, the shot gets tangled.
I don’t like to ricochet
off candidates unlikely
of responsiveness in play.
I’m sorry though... for Mary.
Me feeling hung-over dues...
‘twas cause of the misfire flight,
mispronouncing in the muse.
I targeted her chosen,
and fired a moment too late...
Poor Mary heard the grunting
and a pig stared through the gate.
Next, we hear the crashing sound,
running feet as pig appears
and looking up at Mary
piggish grin with garbage smears.
Now, Mary’s not called stupid
nor in love with new pig friend.
She bargained up the bacon,
smoked the hams and brought the end.
Valentine’s day is coming,
my fear mounts of face to face...
‘cause Mary not forgetting,
last year was the piggy chase.
Cupid
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