Why I love you I cannot imagine:
Not ugly, but certainly not a movie star,
your choice of clothes hardly the latest fashion;
you drive what I can barely call a car.
I won’t say shallow, but you’re not an intellectual,
your emotional boxcars derailed and crashing.
Well past youth, becoming rather forgetful,
overspending, running short of cash.
Sometimes I think you’ve forgotten I exist,
watching TV or or leaving when I come in.
You’re hard to please; I’m always on your list
for one thing or another–it never ends.
Why I love you I really have no clue,
yet when all is said and done, I do.
Note: The addressee is hypothetical, the traits an amalgam.
T. Allen Culpepper