Jack
Jack climbed up the hill of my breast
And my eyes stared back at him,
Empty and hollow
As the bottom of a tin pail.
He is thinking of her.
That blonde with two pigtails
And pink ribbons.
I felt as if she was climbing with him,
And this hill wasn't big enough
For both him and that wench—
Even if they were 36 C's.
With a heave, Jack tumbled off my mounds,
Hitting his head
On the baseboard.
And she fell with him
As his memory left in unconsciousness.
He broke his crown,
And I hope it stayed that way—
Cause Jack was no king.
I didn't cry,
But went in search of someone else
To light my fire.
Jack took my hand,
And together we
Intertwined our souls
Ready to take on every flame.
We were raw and he was Prince Charming.
He lunged forward, grasping me,
Ready to jump over this new candle in the distance.
But for Jack it was too high.
He stopped mid-leap,
Sweating and backing away
Like a rabbit approached by a wolf.
Skittish, he turned and ran
And he'd absentmindedly
Burned my flesh,
And the wax candle in front of me melted—
Yet another wasted opportunity.
Sure, you were nimble and quick—
Nimble enough to evade my burning desires,
Because you must have not liked women,
And quick enough
To avoid the subject.
Jack was a smooth talker—
Smooth like the slow creeping wax down the stick.
So, I ran off with Jack
And he promised me
That he could make three small beans
Turn into a thick, tall stalk
That I was welcome to climb anytime.
He claimed there was gold waiting at the top.
Yeah, sure there was.
Turns out I'm not the only one
Who had climbed Jack's beanstalk,
Because at the top
A girl with a harp; said she already knew him
And he'd tried to take her and the gold with him.
Turns out he wasn't much of a lover on a vine.
Compensation is a bitch.
Then there was Jack Spratt-
Some vegan I met at
Old Mother Hubbard's Bar and Grille.
I used to sit there with a coffee
During pickled pepper season.
Anyway, he'd come in
And we'd have a laugh
At his ex-wife's "medical" condition
That left lean meat out of her diet.
We dated for awhile
And he even escorted me
To Mary Contrary's garden party.
After a while, though,
I got pretty, damn tired
Of starving.
All the man ate was cold peas porridge
And those stupid pickled peppers!
I wanted meat—
Sizzling thick meat.
Hey, I never said I wanted to date a rabbit.
Of course, there was that one time...
Uh...never mind.
Jack Horner was my last attempt at love
But he had dipped his thumb
In far too many plum pies
He wasn't a good boy,
But I knew that when I met him.
He used to sit in the corner
Of the plum orchard
And brag about how many ripe ones he could pluck
At Christmas parties.
That was it for me.
Turns out Jack
Had rolled around in too many fields,
Walked away from too many flames,
Preferred beanstalks
(I should have seen that when he insisted on watching it grow)
And stained his fingers
With far too many pies
While all the while posing as poster boy for vegetarian politics.
I joined Bo Peep after that
And found I preferred the softness of sheep fleece to hungry wolves.
Those were good times.
