Hornadate

The sky is shouting at you Hornaday
He left her at the dance last night
She’d worn her frilly polka-dotted best,
lips smacked red for suitable seizure.

Off on a Buffalo hunt you told her,
likely excuse you Cretan, everyone knows
that Teddy ate the last one, ground it up
and served a patte with New York crackers
as an appetizer. If you don’t want a second date
that’s fine, you don’t have to make up
an outrageous excuse to soften the blow, she said.

Author’s note: sometimes you just have to let a thing go, no matter how goofy it is.

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