Two poems about ill-matches.

Harry Hopper

Hung around with a guy for a very long time
certain he was a good aim
he was a dollar, I was his dime
Harry Hopper was his name
Had a long string of exes
a home back in Texas
and a smile so disarming
His family history
was capped in mystery
never once did I find this alarming.

Harry Hopper, Diamond Robber
— how did I learn it so late?
He hid all the clues, made every excuse
he’s hunted by every state!

Now he’s fled like a ghost
but what furies me most
is with all those diamonds he carried
It slipped his dish
to grant my small wish
It appears I’ll never be married.

Feedback to the Matchmaker

His trousers are an inch to short
He has a crooked grin
He does not see the fun in sport
I will not marry him

He’s much too spoiled by his mother
His friends I can’t abide
He’s jealous of his only brother
Find him another bride!

He seldom speaks with warmth and love
He knows not modesty
He has his own opinions of
What a wife should be

All that to say, my answer’s no
And solid as a tree
But tell me this before you go…
What did he think of me?