What a day, what a doozy, what a doodah dinger of a day.
Fair play? No contest, sultry floozy, sensuous singer, I’ll say.
Made merry midnight madness, met this marvelous miraculous mate,
a lark, a lovely lady lavish Lucy, so lovely to stay out so late.
What wonder, what worthiness? What can one so mortal divine?
Bucolic boasting, broad-based toasting, mostly to woo, make her mine.
Alas and alack, ahhh, what I’d take back, to anchor that lass once again,
to bring her on home, hail and hearty to roam (but not to see other men).
What a day, what a doozy, what a doodah dinger of a day,
to fall for the floozy, to feel oh so woozy, to want her mostly to stay.
What a doozy— that doodah dinger— she left my heart broken and wrecked.
For Lucy, sweet Lucy, drunk-walked miles, loosey goosey, oh the miles I trekked.
Mostly, mainly, must I moan? Murmur merely this measly morsel of truth?
I was the loose one, the boorish beast one, the weasel, mostly spent and uncouth.
Lucy, my angel, my precious potato, my petulant perfect petunia,
forgive my bad habits, tripling like rabbits, I didn’t endeavor to ruin ‘ya.
Best be over, I’m snoozy and feeling a bit cruisy, seeking comfort for all this dismay,
meeting sweet Lucy, was a doozy, a downright doodah, on that dastardly dinger of a day.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This poem was selected from entries submitted to our Creative Challenge Series #49: First Sentences, which required that the first sentence in the text must be used as given.
