It might have been my bad cologne
or perhaps it was my old car.

These things might make you hesitate
about committing yourself to a person.

But that doesn't explain Carol's
abandoning a man she once loved

and now swears she'll never miss.
(This dismissal tends to prove my thesis:

Sometimes a curse turns into a kiss,
but more often everything becomes a curse.)

Or the want of explanation why
she now lives in Tennessee.

Or the day, standing by my microbus,
she hit me repeatedly with her purse.

I'm not too worried about making enemies.
Making friends is sometimes worse.