Societal Satire in Shorts
Rhyming Relationships
S. G. Lacey
​
Standing Proud
Date night.
Late night.
Another opportunity missed.
Called out.
Stood proud.
But it still clearly sucks to be dissed.
While completely absurd,
I’m increasingly amoured,
by the thought of an inert acquaintance.
Blow-up dolls are awkward.
AI chat bots screw up words.
At least these toys aren’t high maintenance.
Pleasure and pain,
are deeply engrained,
but love is an acquired skill.
Trust intuition,
to make decisions.
Remember to practice free will.
Date night.
Late night.
Everyone likes tacos and rosé.
Called out.
Stood proud.
Especially when meeting Jose.
Gender is confusing.
I feel like I’m losing,
any time I screw up a pronoun.
But humans are complex,
when it comes to their sex.
So many discrepancies abound.
Friendships are tricky.
Relationships sticky.
So, choose confidants wisely.
Too often my convos,
turn into no-shows.
It seems confidence skipped me.
Date night.
Late night.
Another lame evening dismissed.
Called out.
Stood proud.
I’m really starting to get pissed.
I’ve tried all the dating apps.
Shared pictures in assless chaps.
Still, I’m yet to start a family.
Web chats are often fleeting.
Online content demeaning.
Time to seek real folks that inspire thee.
Back home alone.
No chance to moan.
My life is slipping away.
I tried my best,
but failed the test.
Challenges abound when gay.
Date night.
Late night.
Next morning I’ll hopefully be fine.
Called out.
Stood proud.
Time to open a bottle of wine.
Me & You, in Haiku
Winter wonderland.
Grab your skis, and my gloved hand.
An adventure grand.
Cold, snowy landscape.
Pair of dots on a steep face.
A lovely escape.
Two spirited souls,
touring a remote bowl.
Connection made whole.
Tandem arcing lines.
Partner’s never far behind.
Snow love is sublime.
Trip ends with a glide.
Glacier crossing to the pad.
Time for the next ride.
How ‘bout a redo?
Let’s make out in the helo.
Off again we go!
Stripper’s Saga
I stare into the dark,
searching for my next mark.
Soon, ready to embark.
Despite what’s shown on network TV,
this risqué profession allows me,
to make a lucrative salary.
The Las Vegas Strip,
can be quite a trip,
but I’m well equipped.
Seedy shows.
Heels and hose.
Pedaling my trade.
Lusty loins.
Cash and coins.
Awkward exchange made.
It’s been a lengthy journey to this point.
Performing in many a sordid joint.
Constantly trying not to disappoint.
I remember little of my parents.
Conditions were severely abhorrent,
our poor lot in life very apparent.
Neglected as a child,
abused and defiled,
I took off to the wild.
Numerous long nights,
suffering from fright.
I lay awake afraid.
Constantly lonely,
rail thin and boney.
I resolved to upgrade.
Socially awkward,
my morals backward,
luck found me a ward.
Living amongst girls,
really changed my world.
A core trait unfurled.
Innocent group dancing,
became quite entrancing,
path forward advancing.
Rusty old cars.
Dingy dive bars.
Moving from state to state.
Dirty hotels.
A rare brothel.
Existing date by date.
All my colleagues were chatty.
Amongst many a hottie,
bathroom banter turns catty.
My best customers stay in the shadows,
holding out for their desired model,
with hopes to meet at the local motel.
I’ve had many a boyfriend.
Some guys just want to be friends.
Others wonder how I bend.
Unsafe sex.
Unsafe ex.
I was tempting fate.
Tough ass thugs.
Too many drugs.
Time to extricate.
After time in the clinic,
I’m still a major cynic,
but cleaner than going in.
I need to find a real job,
that doesn’t force me to rob,
or act like a slutty slob.
Nudity is shunned,
but I find it fun.
Audience of one.
Healthy food.
Better mood.
I’m reinvigorated.
A cleansed mind.
Firm behind.
Getting reinitiated.
I now spend on items I use,
like skimpy panties and tall shoes,
which are essential to bemuse.
Sexy stripper seduction.
My fundamental function,
requiring great gumption.
Sure, hitting the pole,
isn’t all it’s sold.
I’m getting too old.
Aspiring.
Desiring.
A better situation.
Audacious.
Tenacious.
Ruthless completion.
Costume ornate.
Hair immaculate.
Body gyrates.
A choreographed routine,
with multiple complex scenes,
more salacious than obscene.
Focused on my new work.
Performing a sexy twerk,
and the crowd goes berserk.
A seductive show,
with glitter that glows,
while executing my charade.
Lovely ladies,
on many stages,
means lucrative salary made.
Dancing on the Strip,
is a crazy trip,
with my odd life script.
Working three days a week,
with an air of mystique.
A gig happy to keep.
Paid directly in dough,
I’m saving a lot, so,
can afford a condo.
Such swanky shows.
Heels and tutus.
Enjoying a legal trade.
Lingeried loins.
Credit not coins.
Another sellout made.
Jealous of You
Relationships suck, let me tell you.
Hopefully my saga, will compel you.
Since the day we met, I wanted to fuck you.
Needy and greedy, I almost abducted you.
As our bond progressed, I actually met you.
What a first kiss, I will never forget you.
We drifted apart, but I followed you.
Due to online posts, I disavowed you.
Our divergent paths recrossed, chance bringing you.
Options limited, I commenced wedding you.
Early lusty days were fun, just me and you.
Confidence high, I started to command you.
Children came, facilitated by you.
The twins were needy, but didn’t allay you.
A decade of conflict, split me from you.
Fight after fight, I became numb to you.
As life progressed, I began to berate you.
Through female power, our daughters inflate you.
Our kids represent a connection, but I still deride you.
Especially covered in make-up, clearly meant to disguise you.
As careers advanced, my salary trails you.
At family parties, everyone regales you.
Many nights, our family had dinner without you.
Over time, I’ve learned more sinful things about you.
Lying is a disease, which clearly afflicts you.
The more you ramble, the easier I predict you.
Weddings and Thanksgivings, hanging beside you.
After all these experiences, I despise you.
Growing old together, would be fun without you.
Acts of cunning and deceit, I wouldn’t doubt you.
Divorce is a choice, between me and you.
Select wisely knowing, I can’t stand you.
The time has come, for me to leave you.
There’s no reason, for me to deceive you.
Relationships suck, based on knowing you.
Hopefully my saga, helps outgrow you.
Teenage Heartthrob
I have known you since elementary.
Innocent back then, not caring if we,
played together in the gymnasium.
Now, I’m actively trying to get some.
Enhanced by puberty,
I’m quite a sight to see.
Long legs and supple curves.
Ignoring me’s absurd.
Boys mature slowly.
Girls grow up quickly.
Not just in physique,
but also, mystique.
You are constantly in my dreams.
We’re inseparable, so it seems.
I don’t know what true love feels like,
but this experience I like.
Once quite young and naïve,
I’ve now come to believe,
luck follows those who try.
Time to make you my guy.
Telling my friends will be tricky.
Adolescent girls are picky.
We’ll need to be very discrete,
when we inevitably meet.
Swing by my locker.
You’re not a talker.
Just give me a chance,
to start this romance.
Hormonal urges are firing.
Malleable brain conspiring,
to cement our new dating status.
Hopefully my parents will let us.
Whether love or lust,
connecting’s a must.
I’m hoping someday,
you’ll be my hubby.
Booze Hounds
S. G. Lacey
​
Drunken Drive
Getting real sloppy,
in my jalopy.
Weed and cheap booze,
always amuse.
The road is quite straight,
but visions not great.
Multiple distractions,
cause a chain reaction.
Cigarette butt burning,
wheel suddenly turning.
Careening into the gutter,
amongst stinky beer can clutter.
Huge tree avoided,
crisis averted.
Fire up a freshly rolled blunt,
and return to pavement.
Another school night,
more deviant plight.
Being perpetually cool,
requires suffering fools.
Hindsight looking back,
I’m fortunate that.
Rampant teenage mischief,
didn’t lead me adrift.
Sophisticated Sommelier, Sometimes
Sometimes a sophisticated sommelier.
Sometimes hosting a house party.
Either way,
it’s time to open another wine bottle.
Adjusting my tuxedo,
I start my night.
Singularly equipped to,
promote delight.
Providing insight,
on all manner of wine.
Let’s pour a starter flight,
and have a good time.
Pausing at each table,
with a fine rosé.
Happy to enable,
acts which are risqué.
As a sommelier,
I’m generally classy.
But on this fine day,
I’m feeling quite sassy.
Sometimes a sophisticated sommelier.
Sometimes cultural attaché.
Either way,
it’s time to present something truly novel.
Soon, I hit my stride,
pouring chardonnay,
while brimming with pride.
The libation’s chalky.
The patrons are chatty.
Everyone is now primed.
Enjoy a side sip of bubbly,
to make this party so sublime.
Here is a cabernet.
Please look at the menu.
This pairs well with filet.
A glorious venue,
except when you,
have too much wine.
Your palate continues,
to become less refined.
Sometimes a sophisticated sommelier.
Sometimes hefting a heavy tray.
Either way,
it’s time to provide some hearty victuals.
Appetizers served,
selection exemplar.
Fresh stone fruit preserves.
Crackers and caviar.
Truffle-topped tartare.
Even with this fine spread,
wine is the star,
if I select the right red.
Dinner on the table,
I stand here reserved,
gloved hand willing and able.
A trait well learned,
through tips well earned.
High-end diners savoir,
the sustenance they’re fed,
meal full of flavor.
Sometimes a sophisticated sommelier.
Sometimes smartly staying away.
Either way,
it’s time to facilitate flowing bubbles.
Here comes the dessert,
and a lush pinot,
for those still alert.
Part of my service is managing egos.
I am quite open to facts that I don’t know.
Pairing coffee with gamay,
is a definite no-go,
but my role carries no sway.
I scan the scene,
specifically, the glassware.
Always alert and keen,
to meet any stare.
A group this rich is rare.
Serving the elite,
takes extra care.
Liquid last course, semi-sweet.
Sometimes a sophisticated sommelier.
Sometimes keeping clients at bay.
Either way,
it’s time to speed up this lengthy debacle.
My night’s almost done,
except for one last guy.
He remains alone,
I’ve no idea why.
“Anything else, sir?”, I say with a sigh.
“Your finest cognac.”,
is his terse reply.
Onward to the cellar, I’ll be right back.
Suddenly, I’m in a convo about terroir.
At least I poured myself a full glass of zin.
Since I can’t escape far,
is a small business sin,
ignoring a patron?
Following a wordy question about loam,
I make a key executive decision.
It’s now time to go home!
Sometimes a sophisticated sommelier.
Sometimes lounging is quite comfy.
Either way,
it’s time to open another wine bottle.
Soberish Skiing
December is the best month to ski,
filled with all sorts of debauchery.
Parking lot.
Clutch close spot.
Boots-on walk,
not a lot.
Skinning up.
Huff and puff.
Windy summit.
Must layer up.
Sending it.
Loving it.
Going down,
is legit.
So much full sun.
Energy’s gone.
Goggle tan,
real good one.
Snowy peaks.
Perky peaks.
Natural hot tub.
Sulfur ester reeks.
January is the best month to ski,
filled with very overt debauchery.
Ripping kiddies.
Hot ass lifties.
Resort riding.
Great scenery.
Snowboard chicks.
Snowboard tricks.
Showing off.
Taking risks.
New gear.
No fear.
Epic crash,
but still here.
Steep lines.
White lines.
Glass table.
Coke’s divine.
Budget lodging.
Much rule dodging.
Double capacity.
Drunk extra bed scrounging.
February is the best month to ski,
filled with many kinds of debauchery.
Snow’s falling.
Stop stalling.
Conditions epic.
The mountain’s calling.
Heli is grounded.
High alpine pounded.
Stuck inside.
Bar’s crowded.
Finally going.
Some tight tree skiing.
Such flat light.
Blizzarding.
Deep piles.
Deep smiles.
Utter happiness.
Simply beguiled.
Powder stash.
Secret stash.
Celebrate with,
full whiskey flash.
March is the best month to ski,
filled with much debauchery.
Lapping corduroy.
Groomers to enjoy.
Lapping lattes.
Strong scotch, no soy.
Lift lines.
That’s fine.
Crack a beer.
Lots of time.
Old Fashioneds
Old fashioned.
Gaper Day.
Clown session.
Après ski.
The shot ski,
requires teamwork,
and dexterity.
Bright lights.
Cold Lites.
Night skiing.
Doing it right.
There isn’t one best month to ski,
all are filled with debauchery.
Florida Family Fun
Adolescent Mischief:
On an allowance.
Shunning abstinence.
Rules from mean parents,
don’t build tolerance.
Seeking some cheap booze.
Easy to abuse.
Often stolen.
More emboldened.
Drinking in cars.
Locked out of bars.
Parent’s basement.
An escape, but,
time’s limited,
to get hammered.
Shiner Bock.
Clear moonshine.
Homemade wine.
Far from fine.
Tequila salt lips.
Bubble gum lipstick.
First kiss.
Name missed.
College Fratboy:
Saturday’s great.
Home game tailgate.
Liquid breakfast.
Campus festive.
Raising Cain,
for our Canes.
Facing LSU.
Us students hate you.
Epic win.
Time to sin.
Frat row.
Let’s go.
Beer cans.
Keg stands.
Drinking heavily.
Liver quite angry.
Beer pong obsession.
Strong first impression.
New partner.
Chat starter.
Drunken smirk.
Awkward lurk.
Young Farmer:
Glades Country.
Hick party.
Poor shots.
Pour shots.
Best yardage,
not a lot.
Farmer’s field.
Sex appeal.
Pick-up truck,
makes ’em squeal.
Whistling Dixie.
Dixieland delight.
Inept romancing.
Awful line dancing.
Cutting a dirt rug,
requires drugs.
New fix plan.
Oxy scam.
Quickly stripping.
Skinny dipping.
Humid evening.
Sweat is dripping.
Middle-Aged Drunk:
Happy hour.
Many hours.
Dark dive bar.
Working hard.
Golden Tee.
Spiked sweet tea.
Too much booze.
Need some food.
Texas toast.
Busty host.
I’ll be your guy.
Bone-in ribeye?
Tall Coors Light.
Whiskey flight.
Cramped pool hall,
lots of balls.
Competition.
Big stick swinging.
Time stamp.
Tramp stamp.
Getting late.
Last chance date.
Adult Family:
Coke and Bacardi,
pre-dinner party.
Cutting down my edge.
Cutting salad wedge.
Grilled red meats.
Fried starch treats.
Dessert sweets.
Not petite.
Classy wine.
Food’s divine.
Empty glasses,
are the real crime.
Dinner aperitif.
Will these guests ever leave?
Late night babysitter.
Need to hit the shitter.
Crying kids.
Invalids.
Bad birth control.
Sleeping alone.
Another whiskey.
No longer frisky.
Boomer Groupie:
Rolling Stones.
Getting stoned.
Live music venue,
outside Orlando.
Lower bowl.
Toilet bowl.
Lost all control,
before the show.
Another weekend,
so very drunken.
Parrot Heads.
Margs in bed.
Morning mourning,
Buffett’s passing.
My teenagers.
No more strangers.
Life comes full circle.
What a miracle.
Underage drinking,
which I’m enabling.
Family concert.
Family rebuilt.
Old Man:
Smoking fine stogies.
Securing bogies.
Local country club,
moves more than trophies.
Playing poker.
A chain smoker.
Many cruel beats.
Bad card holder.
Large lounge chair.
Debonair.
Artificial hip.
Fancy bourbon nips.
Wifey is long gone.
TV marathon.
Palm Beach home,
all alone.
Very few friends.
Making amends.
Commiserated.
Staying hydrated.
A new lady,
would be gravy.
Military Plight
Long years of military service,
requires many a sacrifice.
Suffered an injury,
mental, not physically.
Despite early retirement,
meager pension’s non-existent.
Just seeking community,
plus, a hearty meal that’s free.
Local VFW missions,
are an abomination.
Honor the best in the nation,
with light beer and television?
A silent oath, that’s never spoken,
minds and bodies, utterly broken.
A buffet is no solution,
the real need is attribution.
Phony Matrimony
White wedding.
Wedding night.
Billy Idol,
you’re my idol.
Dressed to impress.
Tidy wool vest.
Manicured hair.
An idealist.
Appetizer spread.
Limited bread.
Apparently, time to,
get drunk instead.
Too early for whiskey.
Too late for herbal tea.
Chardonnay is risky.
Start with an IPA.
A few quick libations.
Verbal masturbation.
Drunken disposition.
Common situation.
New bride and groom,
circling the room.
Many relatives.
Most irrelevant.
Couple should eat,
before they faint.
Already pale,
not looking great.
Floating adrift.
A family rift.
My last chance to,
climb up that cliff.
Stop whining,
when we’re dining.
Drink some wine.
Have a good time.
Back to the bar.
Don’t stray too far.
Bar none, must be,
best scenery.
Booze options abound.
Time for the next round.
It’s scary how quick,
these are going down.
Wine rack.
Huge rack.
Inhibitions unleashed.
No chance turning back.
Still haven’t eaten.
Conversation brazen.
Social lubrication.
Sudden motivation.
Soft suede and smooth silk.
Bodies coalesce.
Showing off mad skills.
A dance floor conquest.
Wedding singer.
Stage 5 clinger.
Epic cinema.
Comedy, 90’s era.
Julia Gulia.
Motorboats.
Marriage promotes,
so many jokes.
What belt?
Emotions felt.
Short skirt.
Feelings are hurt.
Cake time.
Face time.
Butter cream frosting.
Virtual ghosting.
Chocolate fountains.
Tensions mounting.
Family tree,
is now burning.
What wedding?
What bedding?
Need a respectable idol,
before I end up liable.
Evolve & Devolve
Known fact or fiction.
What’s your addiction?
Finding salvation,
demands admission.
Too many broken windows, in a broken bungalow.
Mother widowed.
Children disowned.
Family ties.
Family lies.
New stepfather.
Cruel abuser.
Pour Southern Comfort.
Very poor judgement.
Drunken most nights.
Beatings and fights.
Minimal food.
So little room.
Trailer park loser.
Often beleaguered.
Sleeping with your sister, never gets easier.
Known fact or fiction.
What’s your addiction?
Finding salvation,
demands admission.
Nostalgic old yearbook, recalling what I took.
Skipping school.
Breaking rules.
Underage drinking.
Not really thinking.
In Home Ec.
What the heck?
Crap in English class,
just for passing gas.
Social studies?
Hang with buddies?
The decision was easy.
Care less for history.
Science was better.
Math skills came later.
That pair of traits merged, and trade school emerged.
Known fact or fiction.
What’s your addiction?
Finding salvation,
demands admission.
Real life unexplained, confidence soon waned.
Hopelessly hoping.
Miserably moping.
Odd jobs.
No job.
Cannot cope.
Smoking dope.
Alcoholic.
Catatonic.
Mental issues.
Tickets issued.
Credit line,
is declined.
Agitated,
then deflated.
Harsh reality sets in, fragile life is caving in.
Known fact or fiction.
What’s your addiction?
Finding salvation,
demands admission.
Trying out a new city, yet prospects remain shitty.
Off the radar.
Off my rocker.
Off the damn map.
Nowhere to crap.
Lacking a spiel.
Soon forced to steal.
40 oz. liquid dinners.
Getting progressively thinner.
Deteriorating.
Everyone’s hating.
Mass intervention.
Lack of retention.
No coke.
No toke.
It takes utter gumption, to break an obsession.
Known fact or fiction.
What’s your addiction?
Finding salvation,
demands admission.
Second marriage with an old gown, same old issues with a new clown.
Found impotent.
Embarrassment.
Relationship struggling,
leads to constant sulking.
A home wrecker.
Quite a specter.
Back to the bottle.
All-in full throttle.
Divorcee.
Walked away.
Better off dead.
Thought left unsaid.
Real life changes.
Turning pages.
Getting clean and redeemed, takes a scheme never dreamed.
Known fact or fiction.
What’s your addiction?
Finding salvation,
demands admission.