The Witching Hour

Woke up last night, 12 AM, the witching hour,
Haunted with horrible memories of you,
Thinking about how mean you could be
And why you didn’t last a minute with me.
You were so mean to that waiter
When he wouldn’t flirt back with you.
The best restaurant in town
Wasn’t good enough for you.
You complained about everything,
And I regretted being there with you
On a first date done with you last date.
Despite your stunning looks,
Your perfectly shaped body,
I ended up hating you.

Bob Boyd

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Author: BobBoyd

79, cancer survivor, work out 3 times a week, ride my exercise bike 2 hours daily. Began writing poetry October 2023, living in Greensboro, North Carolina, retired and enjoying a reclusive, solo, ever seeking knowledge life.

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