Mr. Nice Guy

Mr. Nice Guy

She’s says he’s a “nice guy”

but his smile is too sweet.

Like saccharin. It leaves a bad taste.

He wears a nice suit

Says all the right things

How do you do?

Yes ma’am

Right away!

But when he thinks I’m not looking

I see something evil lurking

His gaze glosses over as we discuss the weather.

His eyes drift down my thigh…

He checks himself when I say his name

and the saccharin smile returns

plastered like a Las Vegas billboard

false advertising

My daughter bounces back

like a brightly-colored beach ball.

“I’m ready!” She announces.

And I know she isn’t.

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