Far into the night he wept
She’d dealt a devastating blow
Never had he had a single thought
That she would pack and go.

He couldn’t ever remember a time
A time when he felt so alone
So now in his tears of self-pity
He took another swig and just moaned.

As he looked around his living room
He saw plates and glasses and food
Perhaps at last it had dawned on him
How unsavoury he was, and how crude.

He had finally recognised, far too late
That being crude is a boyhood phase
And that in living with and loving another
It’s time for more grown-up ways.

This is just an example for idiots
Who test the patience of saints
The saints that are called ‘your parents’
Who worry as they let go the restraints.

©Joe Wilson – That journey in manhood…2015

For fun…or is it?