I Really Used To Have A Thing For Lawyers

I really used to have a thing for Lawyers. Curled up in bed, I’d watch him dress up, complete and perfect in his robe and wig. I had imagine him argue his case in court, with all pomp and flair, and I — watching, clapping, mesmerized- his personal cheerleader.

I really used to have a thing for Lawyers, till I found that underneath his wig was a head full of lies.

I really used to have a thing for Engineers. My toolsman, I called him -his spanner and his nuts- my workplace. When work took its toll, and beads of sweat ran down his chest, glistening like Sierra Leonean diamonds, I had trail my little fingers down, following the sweat lines, till I got to the promised land.

I really used to have a thing for Engineers, but with his spanner of deceit, he twisted my insides up and left me broken and beyond repair.

I really used to have a thing for Doctors. Oh, how blessed and perfect he looked in his unstained robe, walking around with a halo of sainthood, healing, saving the world. His hands roved my body with such clinical expertise, his fingers found spots even I didn’t know existed. I had lay down for him every night, on sheets as spotless as his robe, while he performed such marvelous sexual surgery.

I really used to have a thing for Doctors, but alas I wasn’t his only patient, and his robe was the only thing without stain.

I really used to have a thing for Writers. He invoked a relentless passion in me with his words and his poetry got my thongs on the floor. His definition of love were colorful and glamorous and once in a while, I caught a glimpse of heaven between his lines.

I really used to have a thing for Writers till he wrote me out of existence, his next words were for the next bestseller.

I really used to have a thing for Artists. He painted me a canvas of promise, of love and colors, of beautiful landscapes and of mountains that took me to blissful heaven. He painted hope into a flower, and I loved it, catered to it, hoping that with the break of dawn and the first ray of light, our love would blossom as flowers do.

I really used to have a thing for Artists but when auction time came, off I went to the highest bidder, while work began on a new canvas.

I used to have a thing for love. But love is salt, and I earthworm, and we all know who doesn’t survive.

– Nims of the West