The days passed in cavalcade
And passed like elephant's en parade,
First, last and in-between.
Macy couldn't bear cheating.
So, nights when Tru (his real name) came home late
If, on innocently searching his pockets, next morning
She found a condom, still packaged-up fresh,
She was gnawed by the direst despair.
She couldn't eat, she couldn't shop, she couldn't sleep
Except nights when she woke and sleep-walked to the 'fridge-
After which she could sleep. Some.
Else she lay awake, hearing Tru's easy breathing
How could he sleep so peacefully like that
After she'd cried and scolded him ungently?
But mornings, he woke up chipper and full of bounce
And when she started in fiercely on him, again
Said he intended to turn Muslim but not just yet
He was in all other respects, a perfect gentleman
And probably would make a good father, ha!
Worst of all, the sex was (ola!) great!
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Comments about this poem (Infidelity by Morgan Michaels )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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