For a Girl on Halloween

 

The ugly tie my father bought

for me to wear on Easter Sunday

last year is wrapped around my forehead,

forgotten at the present moment

for my attention is tied to her,

leaving me oblivious to how

extremely silly I must look

Fortunately, her confused eyes

remain attached to some strange form

which must rest in mid-air right next

to my right ear. I'm forced to sweep

my sweaty hands through my gel-filled

hair by Freddy, that evil imp

whom I sometimes call my sub-conscious.

Of course, the now dried gel frolics

to the tie worn in a poor attempt

to look like a young, fun John Cusack

for a Halloween party that I

will not attend for I'm too busy

telling this girl that she gives me

butterflies, giant, nasty, flying

vermin in the butt of my stomach.

So now my once red only tie

is covered in white dots causing

me to explain yet something else.

"Forget all this," Freddy commands.

"You're now not just a freak to her,

but one with a bad dandruff problem."

I acknowledge this as true, but yet

I'm still compelled to hold my fort

and hope my words will reach some part

of her which will forecast Freddy

and me somewhere for her future.