The slime wort and the slime hog

An allegory or our time.

4/15/18

The wort was the sort that usually brought a tort.

Was litigious to a fault.

And exercised in his vault.

Exorcised but deamons remained at fault.

Ever ready for a mental pole vaulter was he

Be he ready or not, he was covered in rot.

Thee thou and all modes of arcane learning

Yearning for a she to share in his disconnected

Vivisected world. Each part he thought, that was the art

In self-absorbed smarts he believed would one day

Make hay in the world at large.

A large mistake, escalating commitment to a decision kept him buried

In no life at all with nary a thought of how to marry

A wife couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t put up with his tomb-like demeanor

Meaner than a ground hog, warthog impaled on a railed rod

Railroaded out of all earthly possessions.

Ran out of money to pay his therapist for additional sessions.

Slime hog lived in a bog

To say they were friends would be stretching it

Fit to be tied they both tried on a rare occasion or three to be

Social cordial diplomatic and reasonable

Really wasn’t in either’s nature to be kind gentle or seasonable

Obsessed angry hidden hostility resentment envy rage barely suppressed and that’s when they

When they weren’t depressed. Addicted to love ha- lol.

Fell off the wagon, drank from the well- Hell every place as will

Tell it to the barman who heard it all before again and again well done barely a hint of a glint of hope you dope. Self-esteem was somebody else’s dream team.

A ton of half-truths made no matter to the amiable fellow who took in his tips with light lips, an occasional smile, a dash of lemon or lime.

That’s how he got all the business in this neighborhood of slime.