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?
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
My daughter bounces back
like a brightly-colored beach ball.
“I’m ready!” She announces.
And I know she isn’t.