By: Cam (Squid- Con)
The first time we fought, we didn’t fight.
We laughed, we yelled, we meticulously danced.
Your words rang true, they were false,
I said “lets fight!” both agreed. The con unleashed.
But no one knew.
The store was crowded, Sunday afternoon.
A perfect setting for our pot to brew. No one. All of them.
Just right for us two. Fake like Streisand’s nose. Not entirely true.
One listened with great detail, overhearing the stores working crew.
“Would you like a fresh fruit blender?”
The man tried to calm the storm. He had no idea what he’d gotten into.
Caught in our game, we were destined for fame.
I told him “no, Jamba juice wasn’t my thing.”
You intervened. To interject. Cut me off as you smirked. My face red.
Your words, not mine. “His trip to china, now makes him uncontrollably shit.”
Caught off guard. Both of us hit. You laughing a bit.
Played along, holding my stomach while nothing wrong.
His selling desire, gone.
The intent. Play must go on.
“I will leave you!” you screamed. We laughed.
The audience stared, a train wreck.
They were props apart of our set.
False words rang true, No one had a clue.
Our play, I wonder what types of reviews?
“You better lose weight, or lose me.” Was never for you.
Everyone stared, some chuckled. Some furious.
Awkward was the store front, Two actors. Exit stage left.
No one knew. As It was us with the last laugh. True.
©This poem is to be used only with the permission of the writer of this blog.