I’m a good man.

Raised in the South until I drifted West like a tumbleweed.

Meeting Michelle was a moment that God must have arranged.

Meeting her friends must have been something the Devil planned.

Snickering because of my Southern drawl, my values, all the small things a lowly person would make humor of.

But I’m a good man.

So I’ll hold the door open for them, their eyes examining my worn clothes, as if staring would make them able to spit on me.

I’ll walk their dogs when they’re out and about, doing only God knows what. Their barking dogs reminding me of their owners, spit flying from their loud mouth, growling and preparing a bite but I never receive it.

I have done all tasks to make them soften their hard glare, all ways to make their frowning lips curl up into a smile,

All tactics to make them realize that Michelle has a good man.

The results are promising,

I’m smiling while writing this as I recollect,

They grinned and nodded at my prescence,

They complimented my once judged appearance.

I was damn glad of their change in behavior,

Until I felt a hand snake up my thigh.

I’m a good man.

Raised in the South until I drifted West like a tumbleweed.