Concealed by a fern in the Best Western bar,

The hunter surveys the speed-dating bazaar

And lonely hearts gathered from near and afar

At the cowboy-chic watering hole.

 

Keen predator’s eye swiftly lights on a mook

In ill-fitting Wranglers and crooked peruke,

His un-ironed Polo the color of puke

And physique like a telephone pole.

 

Directly across from this charmless Don Juan

Droops a bland Aphrodite, more pigeon than swan,

A stammering wreck with too much makeup on.

The huntsman has chosen his prey.

 

Reaching into his quiver he draws out a dart,

Contagion a-drip from its pointiest part,

And shoots it straight into Don Juan’s timid heart

Then does Aphrodite that way.

 

“If you’ll pardon my sayin,’” the man says, distressed,

Blood suddenly boiling with amorous zest,

“Our two-minute date has been simply the best!

Let’s us be a pair, you and I.”

 

Deep passions aflame, she replies with a sigh,

“Like a chocolate fountain that reaches the sky,

I am your sweet gal, now, and you’re my sweet guy

Dipping pretzels as one till we die!”

 

The hunter, triumphant, retreats to the bar,

Celebrating the kills with a cold PBR,

And flipping a dime in the bartender’s jar

Gives his diaper a hitch reloads.

 

That’s just how it goes on Saint Valentine’s Day,

With violent cherubim firing away

In savage attacks from behind the buffet

Making storybook princes from toads.