while you're moving to and fro
in life's improvised tableau
so i'm never sure which way they'll go
the dialogue just ebbs and flows
and yet there is one thing I know
there are some words you don't forgo
your lips seem to enjoy to crow:
"maybe so"
"oh... I don't know"
i'll find an old worn school photo
recall a story from long ago
a time when we were toe to toe
pick up my phone to let you know
and find you're drinking white Bordeaux
while you make the kids some sloppy joes
as you grab a piece of cookie dough
to mime for them a puppet show
I ask if that's a text typo
you wink and tell me "maybe so."
i admit i'm a romantic doe
with words i can seem quite a pro
so i'll tell you that your meek "hello"
sounds like a sonnet by Thoreau
or i'll paint with colors like van Gogh
a portrait of your golden glow
from my heart an overflow
so that you'll always ever know
my passion for you -- even so
your response tends to begin with, "oh!"
i finally tell you i'd like to know
if i might take you to a picture show
i can no longer undergo
my desire for this love to grow
all this longing has me sewn
it hits me hard from head to toe
and i beg you for a quid pro quo
some sign on me would you bestow
to soothe my angsty bachelor woe
the response i get is, "i don't know..."
after all the seeds i sow
what do i for my labor show?
this poem and its afterglow
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