I’m With Stupid, A Poem

I’m With Stupid

I was of the opinion
Anyone wearing an “I’m with stupid” t-shirt
Is really the stupid one logically;
Is probably in a relationship with an equally matched partner
Probably wouldn’t think that proudly proclaiming their choosing of a daft lover screams
“I’m stupid and I have a t-shirt to prove it!”

But is there more to it?
Could the Stupids have a language of their own understanding woven into the seams of their stupid shirts?

I’m not sure anymore since I fell in love with a lonely island of a man
His heart is a secret weapon hidden in fine sand
He’s my Mr. Blue Sky
The one I cling, fling, sing to
When the world seems more mean
Than it probably means to imply

What would I put on a shirt for you, Honeybee, “I’m with home,” “I’m with true,” I’m with the guy who makes grey skies blue?”
A vague sketch of the castles we built?
All the music we’ve made, adventures we’ve had?
What adjective is good enough to epitomize that way you have of doing everything you do?
How many shirts would I go through?
How small would the print have to be to fit thoughtful, neat, charming and sweet, giving, attentive, inventive, discreet, random, handsome, master of courtesy, patience and quality parenthetically?
Can’t forget goofy, crazy, giggle-fit funny.
Anything less would wouldn’t be the whole truth.

To be wearing a shirt bearing I’m with stupid with the arrow pointed right at you isn’t something I ever wanted to do, but every time I see one I think of you

I think of what it might be like to have one in my dresser, folded ever so neatly
And when asked if I’ve ever been in love I can blurt,
“Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt.”

My Mr. Blue Sky