The day reacts like it was asked
Now through those glasses dark, the gaze
Of a major rubbernecker—yeah, she’s no triple-A
Left my batteries drained, this Ms. Heather Gray:
Saying “it’s not hue, it’s me”—that old no-filter cliché
The room goes cold like it was told
It flubbed “who” for “whom"
but to kill the vibe, it takes tomb:
At some balls, the belle’s a jar—to say nothing of the groom
Points out that on reflection, every mood becomes doom
Dude’s so checked out from his marriage that his heart joins on Zoom
When the time comes for me to go
Or will I think, well, fuck me for trying?
—but least you coulda said
—but now, before we’re dead,
hey, thank you for trying