Full Homer

I love the word purblind and so I’ve built
This fuzzy poem upon its blurry base,
And though of this I have some halfling guilt,
It’s not enough to stop my tall embrace.
I use it to describe a pretty friend,
To illustrate a lapse of judgement when
Her actions move against her actions’ end
And she forgets that men are merely men.
I point my finger with it, and I sit
Self-satisfied that I’ve thought of it first
And gratified that maybe I have hit
On some half truth and done my very worst.
Too fast, however, she replies, “Blind man,
Just try to get your trash into the can.”