Sundays in the Park with George

Each week begins
amidst winks and grins,
pawing and fawning
over the buxom beauty.
Checkered tablecloth
beneath gingham-clad
lady and him. George.
Obnoxious lout, out of line.
She leans in for a kiss, but
he resists reaching instead
for the bread to complete his meal.
Luncheon meats sandwiched and slathered.
As we play in wait for the crumbs to fall.
What is a picnic without ants, after all?



One response

  1. Aye, and a bit of whimsy. I like it.

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