EAVESDROPPER

I was minding my own business,

really I was, with my nose

to the keyhole and my eye to the grindstone,

when gossip tittered like a myna in my ear.

I have no etiquette

when it comes to buttlescutt,

but that doesn’t mean

you need to show me the ropes.

I know what a rope is.

And, no! you don’t need to convince me

that that big fish will fit

in that rinky-dink lake.

I simply won’t believe you.

I just ain’t that gullible, Mr. Smitten.

Go ahead, call me

an eavesdropper, if you must.

But a name is just a name

not a broken bone. 

Or as basic as a hangover

in the rain.