Griping Telling My Woes
I was prancing toward the bottom of the weirdest ugliest well of life
Demons had their arms out; I threw them my stepdaughter and my wife.
Lucifer took a bite out of my wife’s leg and threw her back to me.
They kept her awful daughter, so that was a win you see.
You are a loser someone yelled. My mother has called me worse.
Lost wallet and car, and my grandmother’s favorite gaudy purse.
I lost my house, but I found some good people on the street.
They offered me pork and beans, and one of them was sweet.
We griped and told our woes, until the evening alley fire was gone.
No fairy godmother, no spells, no glass slippers, and no wand.
In the daylight, things looked bleak, and I felt ugly, tired, old and thin.
But we homeless had a gigantic party, that night and I felt whole again.
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