Talk Of The Town Poem by Richard Jarboe

I had a gal; her name was Irene,
Prettiest gal I've ever seen,
We played around dust til dawn,
Then one day she was gone.

She left me out on the brink,
Took everything, even the sink,
Her nick name was Hoover and now I know why,
Living with a tornado, things tend to fly.

Irene used to whisper in my ear,
'Strike a match, you get fire, my dear, '
If you were hungry, she'd give you something to eat,
That was her religion for eternal repeat.

I will admire her til the day I die,
Why exactly I can't tell you why,
But it had a lot to do with how we played around,
There were times when we were the talk of the town.