Good Man Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

He's quiet, he's shy, not really a whimp,
He eats what he's told, more quiche than shrimp.

He walks quietly behind me, and lets me decide,
It's true that sometimes he would rather hide.

I selected him at the beginning for his docile way,
Such men stay at home and never dare stray.

He babysits when I indulge and have fun,
He stays in the shade while I bask in the sun.

He builds up his muscles and trims his waist,
All done for me! , but it's not my taste.

'You saw him with his girlfriend? looked like a cat with cream! '
But how dare he do this, this is not in my dream!