Received an invite for next Saturday night,
Seems like a simple decision.
Some cherished old chums for some swig and a bite;
I reckon I'll forego her permission.
Where d'ya go?
When d'ya leave?
Who was there?
Who was she?
What did she say?
Does she know about me?
When d‘ya get home?
When d'ya split,
Were you alone?
Who were you with?
How many pints did you guzzle last night?
You don't want me there when they finish the beer,
Riposting to loaded suggestions...
Cower in the corner,
Nervously twisting my hair,
Answering all of your questions.
Questions and questions and questions.
We quaffed and we scoffed and we had a few coughs,
Last call came too soon for the bingers.
Clapped backs, said "Goodnight."
Each on our way thru the night,
I knew my contentment would singe her.
Did you vape?
Did you snort?
Were there girls?
Were they whores?
Why didn't you answer my seventeen calls?
Who showed up?
What d'ya do?
Who throwed up?
Who d‘ya screw?
How much did you drink?
Were you over the sink?
Syllables are flying,
I smell something bad frying:
Ripe wind, acidic ingestions.
I'm slouching here nodding with a blank stare,
Shuddering til you're out of questions.
Responding to alla them questions.
Questions and questions and questions and questions and
Questions and questions and questions and questions and……
Everyone's lying.
The good part of me is dying.
Too much time lost for a lesson.
Recharge your cell phone,
Never a minute alone.
Parrying a million more questions,
Questions and questions and questions.
Sicilians don't tolerate questions.
Questions and questions and questions and questions,
And questions and questions and questions and questions and...
C & P Copyright Chris Giunta 2023