He clambered into her bed,
anticipating the just rewards
he'd hoped for.
While she tucked her
young'ens down for the night,
he spread the linens just right
so as to accentuate what minute
girth he wasn't really blessed with.
He tap-tapped away on the device
she had given him and swapped
advice with another lady he hoped
would be in town come Saturday.
It's only Tuesday he thought silently
while listening for her footsteps
to descend from upstairs.
She let the dogs out
and double checked the locks.
As she slid into the sheets,
he grabbed her hand
to his freshly shorn briar.
"Surprise!" He whispered,
"I was bored at the hotel last night."
Manscaping wasn't exactly his specialty,
but he had a special lady on the hook
that his current one was aloof to.
Two birds, one stone, he figured.
He always enjoyed a good bargain.
Something for nothing, they say.
I'll tell you this.
You were right.
I am not the one for you,
for you do not deserve me.
I shall neigh lay with a liar
nor squash the tones
of my voice to bring comfort
to a belly so yellow.
So shallow and devoid
I know the bedrock
of which I was raised
and will rise my kin upon.
I am gone.
Like whispers betrothed
in visions of wind-battered leaves.
You do not deserve me.
Molly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw.