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It seems a wealthy widow
Has moved in across my street,
I think I’ll make a casual lunch
So the two of us can meet.
Unflustered by the prominence of
Her lifestyle versus mine,
If she’ll like me for who I am
Then all will be just fine.
I fried deli baloney
With sweet relish rolled inside
Secured with fancy toothpicks,
Oh my, I beamed with pride.
My salad--just plain 'dandy' greens
Picked fresh at mornings dawn
Dressed up in honey mustard,
But my guest looked bored and yawned.
How rude, my feelings took a blow
But I recovered rather quickly,
Until she pinched her pointy nose
And claimed she now felt sickly.
I offered refreshing lemonade
In spaghetti sauce mason jars,
Gasping and rolling her dolled up eyes
She seethed, “You’ve taken this too far.”
The wafting scent of strudel
Popped up tempting from the toaster,
Bragging ’bout this fine dessert,
Melting icing couldn't coax her.
She squared her jaw, eyes narrowed
As if readying for a punch,
“I’ve never been so insulted . . .”
Bazaar, that’s what she called my lunch.
Like Granny’s creamery butter
My stomach began churnin’
She trashed me for my kindness
Then implied I needed learnin’.
It weren’t too long I found my voice
Then made my feelings known,
Your behavior ain’t quite fittin’
For hospitality that I’ve shown.
I watched her exit through my door
Red heels went clickity-clackin’,
No “thanks” nor ‘preciation--
Her manners--sorely lackin’.
I gathered up my fine buffet
Made just for this occasion,
And then it struck me sudden-like,
Outlandish--that’s her persuasion!
And though you may have guessed it
A friendship ne’er did bloom,
Don’t know how she did it
But she got herself a groom.
Swiftly her house was sold--
In just a matter of days,
I’m prayin’ for new neighbors
Without highfalutin ways.
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