Busta Move

I’m shouting over loud music
Conversing is a bore
Why not try and show my moves
Out on the dance floor

I single out an empty spot
Amidst the beasts and beauties
And proceed to bust a move
To shake shake shake my booty

And as I get my groovin’ on
I become contemplative
The dancing characters of which
I will get more acquainted

The drunk guy in the corner who
Does not know where to go
But bangs his head and air guitars
While stumbling to and fro

And the big mama with the hips
Who knows just how to work it
She shimmies while arching her back
And squats and shakes to twerk it

And looking to my left I see
That I’ve landed beside a
Man doing a move that I
Have since dubbed the Squashed Spider

A lady with a mohawk seems
Like she’s having a seizure
An older gentleman does moves
From Saturday Night Fever

The cabbage patch and robot are
All getting in the groove
The couple dirty dancing looks
Like they now need a room

A conga line is moving though
It snakes in single file
A gentleman is on the end
Who does it Gangnam style

It’s all reaching a frenzy when
I see my girlfriend there
And ask her if she’d like to join me
We could Whip Our Hair

She just laughs and shakes her head
And says I wouldn’t dare as
I don’t know the cool dance moves and
I’m just way too embarrassed.

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The Joke Is On Me

You told me you’d take care of her
Something apropeaux
For the way she treated me
Those years long ago

You said that there would come a day
She would fall from grace
Show at my door begging for change
And I’d spit in her face

Or maybe have 5 little brats
And sit and stuff her mouth
With pork and beans as she took up
Two sections of the couch

But there was no such suffering
For little old Miss Mean
But there’s a table just for her
At Tavern on the Green

Where I hear that she hangs out
With the Pitt-Jolie’s
She parties in The Hamptons and
Has cocktails in The Keys

Her face is not cobwebbed with lines
As should be her luck
And when it sags and bags she just
Goes for a quick nip tuck

And when I judge her character
Incredulous they answer
“She’s known for work with charities
And fighting aids and cancer!”

Oh Karma you did take me on
A cruel and thankless ride
I knew you were a bitch but I
Thought you were on my side.

Lawd Have Murse-y: An Ode To The Man Purse

As a man’s and woman’s roles
Are mixed up and reversed
Would you like a manly man
Who totes around a murse

Or is it practicality
To fill a certain need
For I’ve seen Snoop Dogg wear one
It prob’ly holds his weed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Would you proudly don one
And with it have no bones
Just call it a satchel
Like Indiana Jones’

 

 

 

 

Would you wear a large one
Or opt for one that’s puny

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Would you rock it like a man
Or sport it just like Clooney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then what of the women
Does it even up the score
To have your man sporting a purse
Twice as big as yours

As for me, I think it’s great
And surely I would seize
The chance to leave my purse at home
Bitch can hold my keys.

Further musings following my last blog, The Battle. Thanks to Andrew of All Downhill From Here for reminding me that, in these modern times, men often carry purses as well.

The Battle

She pulled out a lipgloss
I pulled out a sewing kit
She pulled out mascara
I pulled out some cream for zits

She pulled out some tampons
I pulled out deodorant
She pulled out a scrunchy
And a large bottle of scent

I pulled out some aspirin
She pulled out sanitizer
I pulled out a mirror
And she pulled out tranquilizers

I pulled out green breath mints
She pulled out granola bars
I pulled out a notebook
She pulled out a jelly jar

I pulled out a water
I pulled out a burrito
She pulled out a pillow
And a pic of Jared Leto

And looking in the darkness
My stash was growing thin
Just a bunch of lint balls
And some bobby pins

But still she kept on going
Things came out of the blue
Her purse just notebook sized
It was too good to be true

With condoms, wallets, candy
Her stash still not completed
When she pulled out the kitchen sink
I knew I was defeated

Mix Tape

I remember summer break
When you made me the mixed tape
Hisses that I grew to know
That segued from Poison to Skid Row
And how it caught that little laugh
The penny on the phonograph
The Scorpions ‘Still Lovin’ You’
Was it too good to be true?

I saw you kissing Candy Spritz
That same night that the tape would split
You begged me please to take you back
Said you loved me and that was that
I knew that we were meant to be
When Steve Perry sang ‘Faithfully’
So I taped the tape back together
But discerned the tape’s split forever

My faith renewed as I heard
The band Extreme sing ‘More Than Words’
Then came that day you seemed so distant
As if I was nonexistent
Was this something I could beat
With ‘Home Sweet Home’ played on repeat?
Though I was forced to concede
The tape played just at quarter speed
The end was nigh, I could not cavil
Then the tape became unraveled
And if my memory’s correct
I think it broke the whole tape deck

30 years I scarce remember
Those years that we spent together
Though back in my mem’ry I’ll go
Those songs play on the radio
And briefly think of your soft lips
And still expect to hear the skips.

Thank you to Phil Taylor for reminding me of a time when I used to listen to mixed tapes.

You Wanna Do This?

We argue, bicker, squabble, fight
And who is wrong and who is right
A victory who’s winning goal
Is less the point and more control

And when this fight has run it’s course
With nothing to show but exhaust
We pick at scabs of our debris
Buried deep in memory

And we stand off and look and glare
And both regret that we went there
And maybe lose our patience so
That we have finally come to blows

And break a bone, a vase, a ware
To a point beyond repair
So when the fight is dead and gone
The broken piece will carry on

And it’s poor newfound condition
Serves for further ammunition
A not so clever concealed wrapping
For a fight waiting to happen

But now our nerves tattered and frayed
How did we end up this way
From the source we’ve far departed
And forgot how the whole thing started

A Day To Celebrate

Oh the dreaded 2-14,
A day I’ve come to hate,
Couples have forced gaiety,
Singles bemoan their fate.

Our love measured in cards and gifts,
But I say what’s the use,
And celebrate the 15th when,
The chocolate is reduced.