You offered me
with a dismal lack of grace,
a weather bitten wink,
a warped tooth leer across your face.
I could see you were ill-nurtured;
still, to the ruttish I'm a friend.
But, when I saw the pox
midst your comb-over locks;
I thought my kidneys would cave right in!
I won't stoop to call you beast, Sir,
craven, or a varlot,
but next time you come
reeling out the weed
bring good malt
or find a cross-eyed harlot!
Poetic Words 2 for Open Link Night at dVerse