Expostulated Love
“I love that man,” was what she said to me,
and “I hate that other one,” her follow-on, bait-switch statement,
that morsel of red herring to mislead my unwanted retort
to her bleating caterwaul. I knew this kvetch ranked
behind turd infected punji sticks in heart and soul.
Niggle not. Poetry is sycophantic art when inoffensive kindness
and socially sensitive ethics are euphemisms for hidden truth.
Look both ways, if he can tell it like it is, I’m also justified.
Mind gaps for expiration of truth.
Our Literary Journey 
Much bitterness here… and boy do I get it.
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You’ve expanded my vocabulary today, Bill🤗 Dare I say you need new friends?😉
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Dear Bill,
Gotta love the use of the word kvetch which can be a noun or a verb. She sounds like a must to avoid. 😉
Shalom,
Rochelle
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I don’t know: Not sure you need more than the final stanza.
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Maybe the poem doesn’t need the rest, but I did. Poetic venting. 🙂
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That’s allowed.
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