If you were hit, dear, by a truck,
And I were left without you–
I wonder then who I would, er,
Sorry–let me start over.
I wonder up with whom I’d end
Among our unwed female friends.
There is the woman nicknamed “Midge”
Who meets with friends for contract bridge.
She’s quite well-dressed and “pulled together,”
If ill says she feels “Under the weather.”
There’s Tupperware inside her fridge–
I do not think it would be Midge.
There’s Tricia with her mountain bike
Who likes to go on longish hikes.
Tri-athlete and marathoner
With super-wicking clothes upon her.
She wears me out just thinking of her–
Trish wouldn’t have me as her lover.
There’s Julie-she’s the cineaste–
Au courant woman with a past.
Prefers her novels cutting-edge
And once was talked down from a ledge.
I’ll say this now and mean it truly–
I do not think it would be Julie.
As I my malbec do imbibe
My prospects thus seem circumscribed.
Perhaps I’d end up all alone
With empty mailbox, silent phone.
I like our life in quiet burb–
Be careful stepping off the curb.
First published in Light. Available in print and Kindle format as part of the collection “The Girl With the Cullender on Her Head.”