Cupid’s missiles
off’times assume forms
Decidedly different,
quite “out of the norm.”
An unwary target,
one fateful summer’s day.
was struck while sleeping,
as on the sand he lay.
Not by an arrow, Cupid slung,
nor romantic music played or sung,
this victim succumbed
to the fruit of the vine-
a lowly GREEN GRAPE,
not finely-aged wine.
As a jukebox blared,
the aim was carefully planned
to gain the attention
of this slumbering man.
I held my breath.
The missile soared into space,
landing not in the heart,
but SMACK IN THE FACE!
Rudely awakened,
he sat up with a groan.
Cupid’s mission accomplished,
I was left on my own.
Now it wasn’t quite
love at first sight,
but close to it I’d say
We’re wed 47 years
this coming May!
Cupid’s bows and arrows,
pretty hearts trimmed with lace
couldn’t work near as well
as that “GRAPE IN THE FACE”.
When sometimes I feel
romantically inclined.
I’ll buy some green grapes
To jog my man’s mind.
To recall that sweet day
Oh, so long ago
When Cupid and I
made him my beau.