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He Laughed At My Poem

I wrote a poem for him alone then wished I never did.

I only have myself to blame and now I feel ashamed.

My love for him, to the world I confessed

They must have thought I was obsessed,

for I promised to move mountains and catch a falling star

As if I’m just taking cookie from a jar.

He read my poem but it was clear

that he really didn’t care

He wanted something so much more,

something more than I can share.

 

He read again the poem I wrote, he smiled the biggest smile

He said, “I didn’t notice this, it sure took me a while.”

I wondered what he meant by this,

not sure I’m catching up.

Is there something I wrote incorrectly?

I wondered what I messed up

 

He said, “what a fine poet you are, a very pretty way to write”

“Why don’t you and I have lunch? Let’s go get a bite.”

I did not know what to say,

was he just pulling my leg?

So I asked for the paper I gave him,

As a matter of fact, I begged

And there I saw the reason why he smiled,

why he laughed with such gist

The poem he read, after all,

was my shopping list.