Sometimes You Have To Resort to Poetry

Sometimes regular prose falls short… I offer the following poem, “My Agent Says”, by R. S. Gwynn.  It truly captures a mood.

My agent says Los Angeles will call.
My broker says to sell without delay.
My doctor says the spot is very small.
My lover says get tested right away.

My congressman says yes, he truly cares.
My bottle says he’ll see me after five.
My mirror say to pluck a few stray hairs.
My mother says  that she is still alive.

My leader says we may have seen the worst.
My mistress says her eyes are like the sun.
My bride says that it’s true I’m not the first
My landlord says he’d think about a gun.

My boss says that I’d better take a chair.
My enemy says turn the other cheek.
My rival says that all in love is fair.
My brother says he’s coming for a week.

My teacher says my work is very neat.
My ex-wife says I haven’t heard the last.
My usher says the big guy’s in my seat.
My captain says to bind him to the mast.

My master says I must be taught my place.
My conscience says my schemes will never fly.
My father says he doesn’t like my face.
My lawyer says I shouldn’t testify

My buddy says this time I’ve got it bad.
My first love says she can’t recall my name.
My baby says my singing makes her sad.
My dog says that she loves me all the same.

My pastor says to walk the narrow path.
My coach says someone else will get the ball.
My God says I shall bend beneath His wrath.
My agent says Los Angeles may call.


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