Only a real man writes poetry. At least that’s what Aunt Winifred told Nephew Hayes. Lesser men grovel around in prose, but a real man writes a poem.
Hayes had been dating Mabel for over a year now. He wasn’t an overly clever chap but he thought he might string together a line or two of poetry. Anything to impress Mabel. Anything to make her go weak at the knees.
Mabel’s such a pretty name It makes the birdies sing, But I can’t make it rhyme with anything.
Hayes screwed it up and dropped it on the floor.
You are my sunshine on a rainy day You are a restful park bench on my way You love me especially when I pay.
Again Hayes screwed it up and dropped it on the floor. There was getting to be quite a pile of paper there now. It was also getting to be late afternoon, and Hayes was getting depressed. He began to think he’d be better happily grovelling around in prose for the rest of his life.
A violet by any other name would smell as sweet And you smell.
Hayes screwed it up and threw it on the floor. And then the doorbell rang. Hayes answered the door. There was an envelope. It was a message from Mabel:
It’s over.
So he was no longer in the clover.
LikeLiked by 1 person
He was reduced to eating dry hay.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s easier to rhyme than Mabel…Perhaps.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am unable
to rhyme with Mabel.
LikeLiked by 3 people
If you rhyme Mabel
with “under the table”
She might receive a label
Or get a reality show on cable.
LikeLiked by 2 people
If she didn’t go to too much tray-bull.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your response was quite the witty rejoinder. I had to re-read it.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hayes is quite the poet
And now Mabel will never know it.
LikeLiked by 2 people
And Mabel and Hayes are names that sound so nice together!
LikeLiked by 2 people
I’m beginning to sense a trend in your style of story, a definite “Voice” where there was none before.
VOICES ARE IMPORTANT. DO NOT ON ANY CIRCUMSTANCES EVER NEGLECT YOUR VOICE
LikeLiked by 2 people
I worked as a playwright for 50 years or so – so I sometimes change the 1st person voice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m on Hayes level of poetry aptitude and intellect. Your story reminded me of this true story I’m about to tell you.
I had a girl in year 12 in secondary I was smitten with and everyone must have hated us, since all we did was smooch at school.
I listened to a song by Don Henley which gobsmacked me called ‘End of the Innocence’. Lyrics to songs back then weren’t readily available like they are now. I always heard in the song, ‘End of the Andersons’, so I took it as that and wrote her the lyrics (as I heard them) and said to her – these are for you…
You won’t believe the family name she had, much to my ignorance.
Only a few years later did I understand her complete dismay of my sending her these lyrics about the end of her family.
True story.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Gosh – that’s a terrific story! Stick to prose, Matthew!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Terrific story for the poor sods who had to see us – day in, day out licking each others chomps haha.
Prose, what’s that? Ah just spinning a yarn in your voice. Got ya.
Your stories always make me reminisce or reflect about my life. I have you to thank Bruce.
How’s life treating you buddy?
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m doing ok – not much money coming in with COVID – we’re in Level something of a lockdown at present.
LikeLike
My kids haven’t gone to school since March last year Bruce – now that’s a socialist -authoritarian society if ever I’ve heard one. Everyone, – but everyone wears masks outside – no exceptions.
I read in ABC news that NZ has 70 something cases. Shit – the end of the world.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Getting my second shot on Friday.
LikeLiked by 1 person
mine 10th of September
LikeLiked by 1 person
At least she didn’t end it with a Post It note.
LikeLiked by 1 person
These days an email would be horrid and a text even worser.
LikeLike
Shoulda stuck with flowers…
LikeLiked by 1 person
She may have been allergic to pollen.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s what’s so great about artificial flowers.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Artificial flowers make me sniffle more than real one because they’re not real.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It depends on your definition of real.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’ve been reading too many Greek books.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s all greek to me!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Double Dutch.
LikeLiked by 1 person
There’s nothing more poetic than a tragic closing line.
LikeLiked by 2 people
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s so very Gray.
LikeLiked by 2 people
!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
😂😂😂😂😂
LikeLiked by 1 person