Ode to a Downer

My friend Jerry blogs poems about people, real and not. A recent entry made me think of a shrew who spends a great deal of time vainly trying to make others miserable. She continues to fail in her valiant efforts as we all roll our eyes for her misguided feats of defeat.
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I feel sorry for her because jealousy consumes her being.

I feel sorry for her, for shallowness defines her humanity.

I feel sorry for her, for she lives as a desperate saboteur.

I feel sorry for her, for she suffers a pernicious soul that exudes black rot.

I feel sorry for her because success—a product derived from education, professionalism, and talent—will never knock on her door.

I feel sorry for her, for she exists in a world of non-existence, one that centers on ordering sheet cakes, making copies, and answering phones.

I feel sorry for her, as she cannot appreciate a child.

I feel sorry for her, for country music gives her the answer to what’s wrong in her world.

I feel sorry for her, for bitterness and acrimony wilt the petals of the frayed broad.

I feel sorry for her, for her delusions and manipulations reveal a desperate loon.

Maybe peace will come someday for her. Maybe she will decide to not be a downer.

Sadly, dignity, acuity, and common sense will not.

It's time to move on, old girl. Just move on.

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“Those who love you
 will behold you 
across ten thousand worlds of birth and dying.”