Bob was pleasant

Bob was nice

Bob would do, whatever somebody asked him to

Bob floated on the ocean of good public opinion,

where

storms, and squalls, and hurricanes

gave him migraines

and

there were monsters lurking in the deep, too.

He always found a way to float,

even though

he wished he was a submarine.

There were no storms under the sea

no wars

no women

nobody

trying to blow him off course.

Bob was a nice guy—too nice.

He enjoyed being patient,

and kind

but there were some days

when he thought

he might lose his mind.

Because…

even if you are kind

that doesn’t mean,

women won’t be mean…

Bob knew there were mean men too,

but he dealt mostly with women.

I guess the point of this poem is…

Bob needed to sink

He needed a way to cope

He didn’t want to turn to dope

Instead,

he began writing,

and all of his negative crap

transmuted

into gold.