Picking People  

The text message
from an unknown sender
read: OK…it’s officially
official… Olivia has BAD
taste in men!  

Olivia is my daughter.  

Like I did not know this? Duh.                 
          Thanks for the FYI, I replied.  

I texted Olivia to ascertain the mystery’s identity.  

Then I began to surmise;
picking men, people,
is like picking out a racehorse,
finding a needle in a haystack.
Nobody wants the parrot-mouthed,
the cribber or club footed
four legged speed machine.
All the big money spenders
want the royal blood,
the perfect conformation,
the well toned, the muscled,
the booty luscious long-legged,
modelesque hay munchers.
This fact alone is not supported.
Many of these high dollar
pedigrees never make it to the winners
circle, foal or sire greatness
or amount to more that a piggy
bank with a hole and no stopper.  

No matter how hard we try
we need to develop an eye
we need a gut to weed out the nuts
we need to play with the ones that never pay
in order to find the gems
hidden amongst all men.