New Bachelor in the Neighborhood
Eccentric little ladies bring him grubby little pies
and their dead husbands’ left-overs: their suit coats and their ties.
Their hopes that he will fill them is literally factual.
Their need for a fresh husband is absolutely actual.
As they woo him with their chicken soup, they tease with fading eyes,
flaunting assorted figures of every shape and size.
In caftans or in aprons, in capris that are disarming,
they troop up his front sidewalk in numbers most alarming.
When one attempts to pass by with footsteps that are swift,
another elbows her aside, starting an ugly rift.
They’ve been neighbors for a lifetime and best friends for most of it,
but this new man in the neighborhood seems to make toast of it.
He cowers behind his pulled-tight drapes, not wanting to look out.
He cannot face another pie, let alone another bout.
He grasps the want ads in his fist, retreating to his study.
He’ll find another rental or move in with a buddy.
He tries to move without a sound. He’s bolted tight the door.
He hears their voices on his porch—each minute there are more.
Somebody should have warned him—kindly clued him in
about what happens to widows too long deprived of men!
The word prompts today are grubby, tease, eccentric and swift. Here are the links: