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Poetry & Prose

Jingo Blues ... Jingo Blues ...

Oh, he just had to do it,
get into that box of retro,
that I always saved for someday.
You know the box,
everyone has one,
the one with blue jeans,
Superbowl socks,
turtlenecks, mittens
and other what-nots.
Well anyway,
much to my dismay,
he sure enough did,
in a quest for long underwear
for what us crackers call frigid conditions.
‘Hey’ he said excitedly,
'I think these will fit me!
Whose are these?
Where did they come from?'
'Their mine!' I said matter- of -factly.
He eyed me suspiciously,
though he tried hard to hide
the look of amazement.
I held the Jingos up to me,
and then did something really stupid,
I tried to pull them on!
He laughed.
I cried!
Well not really,
but I felt really bad.
Dumbfounded, I thought.
No, it hasn’t been that long ago
since I wore them so proudly
showing off every curve known to man.
I couldn’t understand why they didn’t fit
Could it be all the ‘drink, eat and be merry’?
No of course not, that wasn’t it.
Could it be that I’ve been sittin’ on my hiney
for weeks and weeks and weeks?
Although plausible, the idea was quickly dismissed.
But just in case, while it was on my mind,
I added it to my New Years resolutions list,
and then found distractional bliss
in a bag of chocolate kisses.

Sherry aka The Realist
© Copyright 2002
All Rights Reserved

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In Real Life Too! & Sherry Bocchicchio
© Copyright 2001 (All Rights Reserved)