Obsequiously Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

False tales spoken to sell well,
Does not often bring...
Peaceful nights of restful sleep,
To the ones hoping not to be haunted.
By the smell that drifts,
Coming out of their own mouths.
Or that frowns on faces,
With raised eyebrows...
Have not detected an ease of gas.
Slipping to pass and coming fast,
From someone telling another tall tale.
Done so well by story makers.
And old folks loving to lie,
About lives they did not experience to live.
And,
With others they claim by name...
Had been there to witness these events.
Cementing to validate,
What had not taken place.

"What is a 'black lackey?
Is that someone black who lacks keys? "
Uh...yep!
And doors they refuse to leave.
Closed. Shut tight. And left behind,
Not to revisit.
Especially when the reality of other doors,
They could have opened.
But they didn't.
Because fear of doing it
Would have them exposed to the unknown.

"OH!
So instead,
They would rather live obsequiously? "

Huh?
Obse-who?
What?
Suspiciously?

"Well...
The meaning is different.
Although the intent could be the same.
If debated."