Twixt chimney pots moon glows
amidst
a misty haze, and neath
through thick
of silhouette of swaying trees
a window flickers candle
lit.
*And she inside has cried
enough (she thinks)
and snuffs out candle at the
wick
and flings herself upon the
bed,
and in that troubled mind of
hers
with demon of the night
confers
her wish of *errant
husband dead.
And in the morn she sets her
plan
pulls neath the sheets a *book
of spells
and mixes notions with intent;
creates a gateway straight to
hell.
And not for him an eye of newt
nor toe of frog nor tongue of
dog,
but salami slice and sausage
links,
bacon, eggs and deep fried
chips
with loads of salt and full
fat dips,
all washed down with sugary
drinks.
*And as his girth begins to spread
as diet takes its morbid toll,
she feeds him more and more
and more
and boosts his smokes and
alcohol.
But best laid plans do not
bear fruit
despite disease, his blackened
lungs.
For determined he she be his
nurse
and tend his needs eternally,
he grinds her down til on her
knees
and *she
the first to ride the hearse.
Anna :o]
*For those who know me (and
now suspect me) I wish to make clear that these words are not, I repeat, are
not, an analogy of my recent court case in which I was the accused, although I
accept that comparisons can be made.
*He wouldn’t dare
be errant. He knew, sorry knows, I
would kill him!
*As stated by the prosecution, yes I had borrowed an
inordinate amount of cookery books over a short period of time from the
library. They were cookery books of bygone years when we ate rich fatty stuff
because we enjoyed it, and oddly enough were not fat. Hubs and I enjoy our food, therefore no
crime!
*The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – we
all know that! I just love him so much!
*Proof positive – if it were needed – of my words being
mere coincidence, as I am not dead! I am
disgusted at the actions of my vicious neighbours, who with their dirty lies to
the local constabulary, brought about the ?need for the court case, a case
thrown out through lack of evidence.
Hubs is not dead, he is just lost, so lost I can’t remember where I
buried him…(oops!)
Frank at dVerse has us writing of
irony. This afternoon I was searching
for clues of what might be served up tonight and found same at Lillian's. It was then I remembered a poem I had written
last year, or maybe even the year before (these were years when real life held
me prisoner and I did not blog very much) and said poem seemed to fit the bill. And above it is.
Kerry at Toads asks us to add
annotations to a poem and that I have done.
With humour! This gave a
‘nowness’ to the long ago written poem.
So cheers Frank and Kerry for your
inspiration!
Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
