Day: August 7, 2024

Men’s designer shorts costing over
Seven hundred dollars
Essentially for the name on them
Maybe if you’re rich and
A status concerned sort
It’s all good and okay
But even were I rich
Never would I pay
An insanely exorbitant price
For a freakin’ pair of shorts

Bob Boyd

Too many times he squandered his heart pointlessly,
Might as well have thrown it into the seas of infinity,
Battered and bruised as it was in the wilds of the world.

Suffered through may broken hearted seasons,
Many fairy tale loves false, fractured delusions.
He wondered how his heart survived them all.

In the winter of his gray-haired, crumbling years,
Withdrew his heart from pointless, romantic pursuits,
Lived out his life a hermit, his heart unbroken.

Bob Boyd

She sold her body in the streets
Starting at only sixteen years
At a used up age twenty-six
One night one of her johns
Beat her so badly she died
Temporarily in the ICU
While on the exam table
Her spirit rose above her body
Into the white light and the
Care of the Unconditional Love
That NDEer’s call the Source
Returned to life a new person
Became like a reborn saint
Stopped selling her body
Spent the rest of her life
Saving troubled young girls
Selling themselves in the streets

Bob Boyd

Her husband went to war in Iraq
Like a good wife she waited for him.
Got too lonely after a long year.
Met a nice man with a good job.
Too lonely to resist the temptation
Of a romance to cure loneliness,
Fell in love with the nice man.
Wrote her husband a Dear John
Told him she wanted a divorce.
A week later he wrote her back,
Said he couldn’t live without her.
Not too long after that letter
He was blown to bits in the war.

Bob Boyd

He lost his high paying job
at age fifty five.

Supposedly not because
of age discrimination.

Supposedly it didn’t exist
for all the older people
who’d been axed from their jobs.

He couldn’t get another
high paying job,
Settled for a threadbare,
forced retirement.

Bob Boyd