By Will Schmidt
It’s not that I don’t like him,
But rather I can’t stand him.
We’ve been friends for about 2.37 years,
But I haven’t seen him in the last 1.73 years.
Whenever he comes around my spot,
Trouble approaches imminently at the same spot.
Like metal to a magnet,
Like portly children to Happy Meals.
Just as a shoe fits on a foot,
Just as a dog enjoys sticking his head out the car.
So does trouble attract to him,
So does trouble fit his persona.
Perhaps I’ll get lucky and someday,
Trouble will claim one more victim.
Perhaps trouble will lend me some aid,
And make it so he doesn’t come around anymore.