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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=555763" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Her Final Man</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=555763" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The firefly of sun creams its own shade: <br>It does this over the playgrounds, over the old hats of<br>Neighborhoods: <br>Its dance is on fire; its hemisphere running out of room, <br>And still it goes and swims, and turns; <br>As she tells me she can never have another husband: <br>She will only be single after this browny government should<br>Fail: <br>But she still shaves and wears miniskirts for me: <br>I call her my rainbow, and the butterfly to my soul: and we<br>Sell fruit together: <br>Like a knight, I eat habanero peppers to prove my love until<br>She blushes, or I tickle her feet when she is like <br>Cinderella overcome by the counter, cleaning, clean: <br>She asks me to stomp cockroaches, my Alma, the queen on<br>My soul, <br>But I let them leave, like a quixotic knight all flushed out<br>Under the windmills while the cats are milking<br>And the moon: and, oh the moon; <br>And then I follow her down the highway for just as long as <br>I can, but I have to finally have to turn down the other tributaries<br>Of my bachelor avenues, since, because, alas, <br>I am not her final man.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a></strong></div>

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