My Thoughts Rhymed In Crescendos Poem by Patti Masterman

My thoughts rhymed, in crescendos
To your pitch; what child is this
Kicking the stars back to the firmament,
He's either early or late, depending
On your take; so we'll dig a shallow grave
So we can plant and save
The little baby seeds.
Men and women do that dance
The furtive one, the flirty one;
Circling round each other's base
They weigh and size each word and look,
They preen like birds, anticipate
The anti-climactic narrow escape
From those who do not please.
I never pleased; I never tried
It seemed I must be dead inside
Never got near enough third base,
That plate of stupefying strudel cakes,
Wedding processions;
Where I missed with the rice,
And cursing luck, missed it twice;
The bouquets poked me in the eye
And tin can music dragged down streets
Always makes me grimace
Even to this day.