The Boyfriend
I could compare thee to a backstreet boy,
With the time you spent hair-gelling in joy,
but you lack even their pop ability,
a mark against your capability.
You spent hours polishing your eyebrow ring,
the dweeb you were, you called it white man’s bling.
But thy eternal annoyance shan’t fade,
though to you we’ve a goodbye bade,
for in all of the line-beards that I see,
I will be forcéd to remember thee.
I must recall, you had a brighter day,
Of May, when I held all I had to say.
But this day of finest fortune did set,
when your words did so quickly her grief get.
Now I would gladly egg and key your car,
if only I could find out where you are.
Breaking up, my best friend’s joy you did take,
and your face I knew I would like to break.
Despite the rage her sadness induced in me,
I must thank thee because you let her free.
For though we had once found your antics cute,
I had been waiting to give you the boot.
You had called yourself her loving boyfriend,
but rarely did you get off that hind end.
You destroyed chivalry on your own,
and for that, I wish you a kidney stone.
And though not a new fangled fact to me,
Your conduct the death of a knight would be.
You never opened doors for my friend,
as your head was always in your rear end,
searching for your reflection to befriend.
Your vanity would to me shivers send!
And never did you listen to her speak,
you were busy checking out your physique.
Nor were you there for her in times of grief,
when she spoke, you laid about, a side of beef.
And your habits infuriated me,
like how you dresséd like a Christmas tree.
Your parti-colored clothes were far too tight
and to young childen you gave quite the fright.
But your finest look was the guninea tee,
perhaps a guido you wanted to be.
So you see, your style is too much for me,
and I’m glad my best friend is not with thee.
And although I have so much left to say,
to you I must bade a wonderful day,
ye who lends to all boyfriends a poor name.