Best Served: Fair-Weather Friend by Bruno Major
Where I come from the tortoise talks,
Of flimsy flamingos that struggle,
They brave frostbite when strangers knock,
With mistress Booze, they choose to muddle,
This man will cut and slash and drill,
For every jump he asks “How high?”
He’ll take self-loathing in a pill,
And when it works he wants to die,
But you and me we’ve cut the noise,
We’ve kept it real for three years now,
And I’m so sorry that I toyed,
You’re precious to me; I feel endowed.
The peacock’s one joy is its pride,
In its feathers, its eyes and hide,
But that means nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Without another by its side.
The rainbow’s beauty is her multitude,
Her shyness birthing hues of harmony,
My remorse wields not a platitude
I am deeply and truly sorry.
I make no excuses for my stride,
Man should never be treated like a toy,
When it matters most,
With you will I abide.
In truth, I am a silly little boy.