The Tory Party

Stalker poetry

The following poem was written by a young woman who dated its subject for two weeks, and at the time of its writing was no longer dating him. Mmm. Stalker-delicious.

A sketch of how things could be . . .
Small house on the side of a mountain,
Sweet tea and a haphazard garden.
Work out of the house, paint the walls together.
Sit under the front porch fan, sleep late on Saturday morning.
Call me sweet pea and we`ll read Romans together with your arms around my waist.
A few friends over, sing praise songs on Tuesday after dinner.

Stone wall on Raleigh Street,
Coke from the machine and mud from the construction.
Talk through troubles typing, forget each other’s birthdays.

Sit on the tennis courts, don’t look me in the eye.
No phone calls and we`ll read web pages until we die from suffocation.

Send friends to communicate for us, share only a stage in the meantime.

Either way, you drive me crazy.