I’m So Done With That Miss Vicky

I’m so done with that Miss Vicky
Love bomb poem didn’t sticky
Blind like a bat, she cannot see
What could have been, what ought to be.

But it doesn’t matter to me
Don’t care about what could not be
Got a plan to set my heart free
In the next stanza, you will see.

I got game at Harris Teeter
Probably find someone sweeter
Fresh pickins’ in the produce aisles
Hotter stuff with come hither smiles.

Written in 1918 by Bob Boyd, who was a humble and distinguished Scottish Lord, while taking the waters to cure his aching heart at the celebrated Sturbridge Spa in Sturbridge, Massachusetts. 

Author: BobBoyd

79, cancer survivor, work out 3 times a week, ride exercise bike 60 minutes daily. Kundalini energy rising since age 27, began writing poetry October 2023. Pisces, which may be why I have fish for pets, read and listened to many NDEs, Shared Death Visions, and Death Bed Visions, see death as the awakening of a lifetime and the ultimate relocation. View all posts by BobBoyd