Singles Night at the Knights of Columbus: The Nightmare of Jerry Maguire

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    Singles Night at the Knights of Columbus: The Nightmare of Jerry Maguire

    Singles Night at the Knights of Columbus:

    The Nightmare of Jerry Maguire

     

    A friend my age (post divorce )close to 40 years old or so

    Proclaimed his single hood,

    And went on the hunt

    For a pretty nice young lady

    His therapist agreed and had a suggestion:

    Singles Night at the Knights of Columbus

    Sounds like a perfectly respectable place he thought

    And asked his mom to babysit!


    He dressed in his best his dress armor so fine

    Bid his mom,dad and son the warmest goodbye

    He reined up his steeds to his spiffy brand new blue chariot
    And onwarded hoed to the Knights of Columbus

    It started so perfectly acceptable!

    Nice building, nice set up and welcome board

    With a list of perfectly agreeable activities

    What an exciting prospect!

    Volleyball at the Knights of Columbus!


    The mothers of the fine young ladies showed

    In their “red hat society” best

    Some daughters and wives of their sons came

    To watch their purses and keep company

    The men age all appropriate

    (For Mom that is)

    “Rodney” kept him entertained

    He always enjoyed Caddyshack!

    What odds he had for opportunities

    4 men to every lady!


    The DJ was awesome!

    The dancing was great!

    Geriatric Ice Ice Baby!

    Doin’ da Butt with their brand new hips

    And Naughty Girls need love too!


    Remeniscent of Aunt Ann’s wedding twist

    In the layers of flapper skirt

    I’m sure her daughter’s still prooouuuuddd!

    Booty shake thru gurdles sturdy

    Tatas jiggling at the waistline!

    And then next song that made him quake


    I’m going to make you sweat oh baby

    Let the music take control

    OOO Baby

    His hooked up his horses and sped to safety

    Of the First Season of Friends and his son.

     

     

     

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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