Three boyfriends have I, whom I could marry
Just hit '39' again, so I'd better not tarry
#1's hair is so long and so curly
I don't know anyone cuter
Sleeps all day, and mopes nights away
I call him 'My Active Brooder'
#2 seems polite, a man with some manners
but when he gets mad, ain't nobody ruder
He's into MK-47's, MAGA, the NRA
I call him 'My Active Shooter'
#3's vision's amazing, like Superman's
though frankly, there's nobody lewder
He stares at every skirt that comes his way
I call him 'My Active Denuder'
O, What should I do, I just can't decide
I've got to get married, before I die
Wait - My cat's my best friend, I'll marry him
I'll start a Go-Fund-Me, get 'Jaspar' neutered
WHY GOD MADE POETS
I once asked God
why He made poets.
He said: I needed someone
with a big mouth who'd communicate
the ups and downs of life
in an honest, simple, straightforward way;
someone who'd tell the people
what they've been through
and what they're going to go through;
someone who'd explain the unexplainable.
An ordinary person forgets the ups
when they're down;
and never remembers the downs
when they're up;
but a poet holds on to
every single crumby little detail
and tells it all
because he's a brooder.
He's been there and done that
a million times before
and he isn't about to let anyone
forget it.
Janet Marie Bingham