A poem of sorts

LOOKING FOR MY TYPE or MY CHECKERED PAST

 

My first boyfriend, so handsome.

He gave me my first orgasm.

At the time, I didn’t know what it was.

 

The New York Texas Jew boy.

(His description, not mine.)

 

One shaped like Baymax.

One who looked like a ferret.

One who had ferrets.

(Four of them.  Only one bit.)

 

One pasty and bald, but such a creative, quick mind.

Terrible sex.

One acne scarred, but so courtly and romantic.

Terrible sex.

One built like a blond Greek god.

Great sex, but we had nothing to talk about.

 

A widower, perfectly nice,

But the smell of his late, beloved wife

Was still all over him.

 

One thirty years older.

One fourteen years younger.

A Persian one night stand who gave me herpes.

A vegetarian accountant/horse race gambler.

 

I tried them all, always hoping,

Always hopeless.

What’s my type?

Who is right for me?

 

And now I know.

My type is a bald, bearded, brilliant rocket scientist skydiver who loves cats, science fiction, homemade macaroni salad, fixing things, making things, old time rock ‘n’ roll,

And me.