i measure my depth in centimeters….
sometimes i’m as deep as a puddle
and can’t fathom the fathoms you feel.
i’m the wittiest one in the huddle
but none of the ad-libs are real.
the names are all changed to protect me
from the youth that i gave up for lent.
and while it’s designed to deflect you,
the laughs that you pay are not spent.
they’re saved up for when i am lonely.
they’re stored up in brown, paper sacks.
and until i am my “one and only”,
i can barely afford the steep tax.
so i go out to bars in the evenings
and i banter with wit and small puns
’cause i know that the laughs you are leaving
will help when i get low on funds.
4 Responses
Nice. Real good structure, and just a sweet poem.
why thank you. : )
it’s a first draft. i may go back and edit or add, but it just kind of came out. i just pulled the car over and wrote it down.
I just came across this one–I like it a lot!
thank you. : ) after reading it, i remember writing it. i like it a lot better now myself than when i first wrote it. it’s pretty much a first draft. i pulled off the road to write it down so i wouldn’t forget it. i think that’s why Shel Silverstein never drove….he didn’t want to take the chance he’d lose an amazing idea. : )