A Pretty Mess

Pretty is as pretty does,
her mama used to tell her.
But what a pretty face did most
was to get her into trouble.

They looked at her with smiles all fangs;
she only noticed the sky.
She never looked upon the men
who wished to taste her thigh.

One fine day she walked the streets,
tho' not in the professional sense.
A man approached with soft, warm eyes
to bestow a soulful glance.

...She thought he was a keeper,
and he certainly seemed deeper
than all the creeps - oh jeepers! -
hard on course to grab and 'sleep' her...

Yes, pretty is as pretty does
her wise mama used to say;
but she wishes she'd been plainer
if it meant her man weren't gay!


by Esther Leclerc

Comments (1)

Dear Michael, Thank you for this lovely poem. I went out one last time ot walk the dog, and thought the snow seemed so peaceful so late at night. The idea of the snow as a blanket of comfort is one my grandmother taught us, that we are to pause and let the stress of life pass us by, and be thankful for the simple things in life. Your poem crystallized that memory for me. Thank you again - CMC