Frenemies

Frenemies

It's her but, me, and my,
That always made me sigh,
And roll my eyes.
When she interjected,
Scoffed as she rejected,
The time was ripe,
As she directed,
For chance to reply.

It's the yous, don'ts, and dos,
That keeps the common glues,
From setting up.
And yet she'll carry on,
With hand-picked hangers-on,
All in a line.
Yet when bleats are gone,
She becomes my muse.