.
Here it is Saint Valentine’s Day again.
Who was he to start our heart’s aflutter,
Our tongues to stutter,
To melt us like butter?
Oops! I think I had a Hallmark Moment --
Not that there is anything wrong with that.
There is a living for a poor poet
Drooling out doggerel and growing fat.
But I digress
From my treatise.
Here it is Saint Valentine’s Day again.
Who was he to have us buying roses
From florists who hose us
Or candy that blows us
Up like a balloon on Thanksgiving Day
And then watching an overhanging butt
Trying to strut in sexy lingerie?
What’s romantic about my bouncing gut?
But I digress
From my treatise.
Here it is Saint Valentine’s Day again.
Who was he to make me spend my money?
Fatten up my honey?
Does he find it funny
That we spend thirty bucks buying bouquets
At the super market that wilt by dawn,
Fancy French dinners with puffy soufflés,
Sentimental music that brings a yawn
It’s all a mess
I’m done, I guess.
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