Finding Mrs. Right

(A humorous tale of bad luck and worse luck)

“Find a wife,” my mother said,
With her dying lips.
Then closed her eyes and sighed
And took that final trip.

Not to disappoint her,
I bore into the task
I made a list of requirements,
And questions I should ask.

Then ran ads in Facebook,
And settled back to wait
Thinking there’d be a line of women
Desperate to date.

They came out in earnest,
They came from far and near.
 I met them one by one,
And tried to be sincere.

Sally was a vegan,
I got no beef with that.
But she claimed to be from outer space,
And wore a tinfoil hat.

“Next!”

Annalee loved pot,
And to snort a line or three.
I liked staying out of jail
More than Annalee.

“Next!”

Alex had three pit bulls.
They slept in her bed.
“Am I number four?” I asked,
She nodded her pretty head.

“Next!”

Glenda was a tree hugger,
Suckled every cause.
When she found I voted Trump,
She kicked me in the balls.

“Next!”

Norma was a psycho,
Told me that upfront,
Said she had her ex’s penis
Still inside her cunt.

“Next!”

Sonya was a therapist,
Liked my shiny brain.
After one long interview,
She deemed I was insane.

“Next!”

Megan ran a kitchen,
Liked to cook and such.
When I tried to kiss her buns,
She curtly said, “No lunch.”

“Next!”

Molly was a nympho,
And promised massive sex.
But I was afraid she’d roll me good
Then holler out, “Who’s next?”

“Next! Wait . . . there’s no more? Damn!”

I am still looking
For that pistol-perfect wife,
And still attracting weirdos
Who dodge the morning light.

How long should I stumble
Across this fertile land,
Feeling like Diogenes,
Faithful lamp in hand?

I will do it until my mother
Whispers from above,
“This is the right one, my son,
“This is your true love.”

A friend gave me the words TREE, WHISPER, and LAMP as the base words for a poem.  The first image that came to mind was of Diogenes, LAMP in hand, searching the world for an honest man. And then I imagined a modern day Diogenes searching the world for a wife, but having no luck.

Also, I am thinking that I should write a woman's version of this ("Gerald was a jogger, did it just because, every time he came to bed, he smelled like sweaty balls.").