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Trip Trap

A troll can matriculate:

hunch down and smile with closed lips,

wear a broad-brimmed hat on sunny days,

change your diet to Jamaican food,

major in architecture or hydrology.

Drank too much at a frat party,

went way too far with a cute flautist,

turned out she liked short and stout

and not being able to conceive,

didn’t mind I couldn’t dance,

and took long long showers.

Meeting the parents was awkward

(mine: stony silence;

hers thought I was Italian),

we forged a new alliance.

I made the swim team

(I know, right!),

medaled at State;

she, marching band,

law school, prestigious gig on Main Street,

City Council, state House.

Well, eventually it all came out,

me a fabulous creature,

not even human, really,

and the whole billy-goat thing,

she had to choose: public service or love.

That didn’t turn out too well,

and … “Hey, you kids, get offa my bridge!

“Don’t make me come up there!”