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.
*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