Utility Futility

A woman walks into a bar
Trying to be seen for who she are
She might as well stayed in her car
Been ignored at home, not have to drive so far —

Then there’s the man whose words were said
Trying to get her into bed
Without that, he’s as good as dead
‘s not lying, man, the truth’s lost in his head —

We think we know, we think we see
Utility futility
The aberrance that sets us free
From sanity’s sobriety —

She comes home and lets down her hair
Her heavy purse plopped in a chair
She hates it when there’s no one there
Except, she doesn’t really like to share —

And he, too’s gone home for the night
With Brazzers and a Miller Lite
A mouthpiece for his overbite
This warrior whose never seen a fight —

Utility, futility
With shyness or temerity
We wonder wandering and free
As struggling bits of human
Vanity

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “Utility Futility”

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