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Yepper-doddle, today I’ll use my own noddle.         
My prized antique frame sustained a despised bust.    
Wanting to show my man the tough dough in my crust,
I found strong glue and told that goo I was nonplussed.    
Next, I grabbed frame, soda and sat on my sofa.
   
Three tries – no prize, so with both eyes quite wide,
I called the glue a boob lube, dumb as a square loop,
and threatened to incise its worthless insides.
I rose, fetched pose and a calming balm libation,
then returned to pestering with less sweltering.

Glue applied, both sides, I made my hands a vice
and, well fries n’ flies, I squeezed degrees of might.
Bullet sweat, my muscles clinched like a barrette,
I pressed longer than tourists eating pullets.
Then when gingerly, tenderly letting go – 

          glue thoroughly, tauntingly offended me - 

son of a bee, ugly as his glue-mom-harlot,
refused to seam my antique frame back to its gleam. 
Past bummed, I stood to sweetly summon my husband,
but my feet stuck to carpet, mucked as a tar pit.






CayCay Jennings
October 16, 2018

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