| General Poetry
posted February 22, 2018 |
A Wicked Tale of a Crazed Wife
Arsenic and Unhinged Grace
<<<~~~>>>
Hello, darling Robert,
Please shut the door
I spent far too many hours
Scrubbing this floor…
Now tell me, dear Robert,
I truly must know,
Why were you trudging
In such deep heavy snow?
Where were you going
On this cold winter’s day?
I called to you, Robert,
But you would not stay.
Now, Robert, my love
In snow so deep,
I imagine your steps
Were hard to keep.
And yet you walked
With such struggling grace,
I could never hope to
Keep up with your pace.
Do come inside,
Sweet Robert, my dear,
If you don’t enter soon,
You will freeze, I fear!
The fire inside is warm
And so very bright
It will keep you safe
Through this bone chilling night.
So tell me, Robert
Speak up, I say
Why were you out walking
On this frigid day?
No! How can this be?
“A wretched nag” you say?
“You hound me every night
and into the day?”
Well, Robert,
I must confess,
You’ve managed to make
Our marriage a mess.
But since you’ve decided
This may be the end,
I have a small secret
To tell you my “friend:”
Now I know I am
No longer lovely or spry
My face is wrinkled,
And my hair is dry,
But you, dear Robert,
Are a complete ass
You slap, and you drink,
And I find you quite crass.
By the way, dear Robert
You are sweating so much!
Oh my goodness!
So clammy to touch!
Do bring your sorry self
Into this old crumbling house,
So I may now prove
You are but a louse.
What is this?
What’s in your hand?
Is that a gun?
Oh my, aren’t you grand!
“To shut you up,”
That’s what you say?
So that is why
You were gone all day?
Well, Robert, my dear,
You leave me no choice
I finally love
The sound of my voice.
I also have a small
Trick up my sleeve
Which you’ve been drinking
For weeks, I believe.
Yes, recall drinking tea
Each day as you left?
I fear it will leave you
More than quite bereft.
Now give me the gun
You’re shaking, my dear;
I imagine you’re feeling
A tad bit queer.
What’s that you say, Robert?
I am not “Crazed!”
You had better sit down
You appear more than dazed.
"Stomach Cramps!"
"I need to explode!"
"Damn metallic taste!"
My...that’s quite the load.
Very soon, dear Robert
You’re going to pass out
And then we’ll see
Who has more clout.
Soon, so soon, sweet Robert
Your end will arrive
I will finally be free
And more than alive.
Yes, Robert, my “love,”
Please do lie down
Your weaving and spinning
Makes you look like a clown.
Oh my! You’ve dropped
Your new flashy gun
And here I thought
I might have to run!
No! I don’t need a gun
To finish this ruse
Yes, your days are over
I’m done with abuse.
So, darling Robert,
Please shut the door
I spent far too many hours
Scrubbing this floor…
<<<~~~>>>
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When I was sixteen years old, I appeared in my high school's production of "Arsenic and Old Lace," the dark comedy about the two eccentric spinster sisters, Abby and Martha Brewster, who poison elderly men with arsenic out of the goodness of their hearts because they feel the need to end the gentlemen's loneliness.
I played Elaine Harper, the young woman who falls in love with the Brewster's nephew, Mortimer.
Friends and I were reminiscing, and well, afterwards, somehow the above developed...What can I say? Northern Michigan winters are very long...
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