Lisa

When she was depressed, she got fat.
Well, not exactly fat. Twenty, thirty pounds.
I guess you'd call her zaftig,
but still attractive.

When she got fat, she'd go blonde.
Well, not exactly blonde. Lowlights, highlights, streaks.
She looked a trifle blowsy,
not truly lousy.

When she went blonde, she'd act loose.
Well, not exactly loose. Let's say, "indiscreet."
You wouldn't call her tarty—
but she would party.

When she'd act loose, she'd get drunk.
Well, not exactly drunk. Somewhat tipsy, though.
Truthfully, not at her best.
But she was depressed...

© Mitchell Geller