You'll Get Over It

I seem to be less concerned about your anguish?

I tell you what...
Take twenty years off of my life.
Put one hundred thousand dollars cash in my hand.
Tell me things are going to smell like 'Begonias'
For the rest of my life.
And I'll even make you a batch of my homemade pancakes,
To throw in on the side.

Until further notice...
If you do not see me doing a foxtrot,
With the sounds of a polka.
You can bet...
I am experiencing a happiness shortage.
And your anguish,
Somehow...
Has lost a few beats with my rhythm.

You'll Get over it!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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