Gone With the Wind
That old bedroom fan makes too much noise
But he sweats after nights with the boys
I turn and pull the sheets up
Good Lord, on beans they did sup
Thank goodness the fan his farts deploys
Coming home late, he now hits the couch
Spicy foods growl in his waistline pouch
Old tabby hisses at him
Rover’s expression’s quite grim
If our pets die from foul wind, I’ll grouch
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,”
Said Rhett before he went on the lam
My spouse won’t be hearing these
The next time he cuts the cheese
I’ll clog him with a battering ram
*Written May 18, 2014
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014
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