The Interview

Everybody does things right but me

Tomatoes bright and bawdy shine
Through plush foliage 'long the vine
While at my feet prick yellowed sticks
That birth green maggots dry as bricks
In company with stunted cukes
ugly, bitter, resolute
"No worries, we have TONS to share!"

Everyone knows just what to wear

Rumpled jacket frayed and teared
At the interview I'm made aware
thick patches strewn with feline hairs
Stringy, weak as I compare
her springtime fashion a timely match
Mine so autumn and decades past
Neat bundles bound in solid holders
Mine unwound and toppling over
Accessorized in coffee stains

Everyone knows just what to say

Kiss and hug without dismay
Well handled jokes hardly crack
Words that break like an attack
Spill from my lips like molten clay and
Chase these titans well away
I should pretend to be a mute

Everyone knows just what to do

Plan vacations, renovations
Buying houses landscaped yards
While I'm still baflled by sending cards and making beds
and opening lids
They're buying stock and raising kids

To what curse do I owe this legacy?
Everyone does things right but me.