Book of Poems

Old Maid

Old Maid

No one wants the old maid.
They'd rather take a club, a heart, a diamond, or spade.
It's a card that everyone always avoids choosing,
That's you—what's that drug that you're abusing?
They dig around in hopes of a match,
To another one of the cards in their batch,
But they unfortunately pick you,
From behind their hand the card looked blue—
Nope it's the dumb old maid with a scuff on her shoe,
And if you were her, you'd want to be picked too.
She can't help the fate of the game.
If you end up with her, you lose—that's lame.
No one wants the old maid.
She does her job, but she never gets paid.
She's starting to see how much she is worth,
It has been the same since the day of her birth.
You helped contribute to all of the hype.
If she popped up on Tinder, you'd make a hard left swipe.
An old maid that is finding her way,
She doesn't want to live another day.
If you were her, you'd feel the same,
You'd wish that someone would just finish the game.
No one wants the old maid.
Everyone's matches have all been laid,
But you were still stuck with her anyways.