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Letter to Bob
Dear Bob,
It has been mighty long
That I have licked my wounds and cursed your song.
I wish you had warned me, Bob,
That the lying bastard came only to rob
My shame bathed in my suppressed sobs.
Did you not tell him, Bob
That a man with no good intention
Is a mere coward to awaken a woman’s affection
Only to feed her a dose of rejection?
And Bob,
I bet you turned ten times already in your grave
To witness that dirty, low-down knave!
I don’t know why he takes up
Sunday morning space in the pew
Such a lying bastard has made me a miserable shrew.
And he- an apt description of the one
Who wears many faces to meet the faces he meets,
Has his fans believing he is far above
Suspicion
But Bob, you and I know
that lying bastard casts his face from
The very seed he sowed.
He came to rob and he came to kill
That insidious lying bastard
Will one day swallow his own pill.
Copyright ©
Marguerite C. Anderson
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