Matthew Harris Poet Rhyme

Marriage To Alarmingly Ballooning

Marriage to alarmingly ballooning...

dramatically expanding spouse,
when adorning buttons 
pop off undersized blouse
which spurs yours truly to grouse,
and ruffle mine tail feathers 
while listening to Scheherazade.

Eats her weigh out of home and house
unsolicited feedback courtesy
quite doubtful, she could pose
for playboy and/or penthouse
returning explicit volley
of trailing appellations lobbed

expletive laced epithets
directed at her husband the louse
in lame retaliation deftly
sparring as he doth rouse
himself out of his vittle catatonic state
thus muenster ring cheeses crust
squeaks (me) meek Mickey Mouse.

When I did pledge troth
after courtship she would not abate
aboot two plus dozen years ago
(spoiler alert) wheezing
heterosexually straight
half heartedly accepting her

asthma wife sne...
snee...sneezing mate
even then, she exhibited
appetite for consumption
defying four foot eleven
petite size then, a score 
plus quarter years ago lightweight
possessed cute figure.

Now, she eats
non stop while rocking round the clock
stationing, lumbering, burgeoning
girth casting dock
shadows analogous to 
edge of night
donning humongous frock
to allow growing room 
for extra buttock

vacuuming any/all 
comestibles in sight
downing, emptying, gulping
refrigerator contents chock a block
nearly suctioning him,
who doth tongue in cheek mock
think apple pie, yet for
grace of dog ad hoc
anchoring spindleshanks laughingstock
skinny chicken legs (mine)

with knees that knock
worse than concentration camp victim,
(this gentile Jewish atheist gently pock
king fun without intent to rock
the casbah, nor ethnically clash
mainly innocent poetic schlock),
nonetheless chicken legs
repurposed to anchor lock
stock and barrel Matthew Scott
madly flapping wings imitating flock

of seagulls to no avail
this shabby not so chic flabby baby boomer
body, mum mama 
(deceased eighteen plus years)
followed dietary strictures touted by
the late Doctor Benjamin McLane Spock,
no matter, I got hoovered
into maw of tee misses,
who instantaneously
spit out awful poppycock.

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