Lemon Poem by Charles Hancock

I was feeling somewhat threadbare
On the day I cremated my care
I did what I could to chase away the glum
My cure-all of choice; a bottle of rum

I stared at the ashes in the old metal pail
While sluggishly indulging in another cocktail
Then I sifted through the embers and the char
And brooded about how my life got this far

The years gone by are just a haze
And now I wallow in my malaise
Some days are tougher than most
Those are the times that are just otiose

I suppose I need to just move on
Maybe a tiny cabin in Saskatchewan
Or a bungalow near a sunny beach
Somewhere that I can stay out of reach

I have faith that one day life will get better
Until then I'll wear my scarlet letter
For some reason when it comes to women
I seem to always end up with a lemon

Chuck Hancock