Ever-Blow

The guy insulted me while dining out,
although he knew the meal would be my treat.
He spoke as if I weren’t there, no doubt
deluded that his words were wise and neat.
I didn’t quibble and I didn’t shout.
That blowhard never learned to be discreet.
Although his brain was stricken years ago,
his witlessness has always laid him low.

This entry was posted in Family, Food, Personality, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a comment