An Old Story

It-s hard being in love
with fireflies. I have to do
all the pots and pans.
When asked to parties
they always wear the same
color dress. I work days,
they punch in at dusk.
With the radio and a beer
I sit up doing bills,
jealous of men who-ve fallen
for the homebody stars.
When things are bad
they shake their asses
all over town, when good
my lips glow.