Mrs Poet
I rise at the crack of dawn
push-ups with a weight
of ideas – rhymes with my
eggs; a slice of daily bread,
no juice, it gives me heartburn,
so I go right to the ink --
in a manic frenzy
you will find me scratching
and reciting –
the cat tilts
curiously; the dog whimpers
neglect – my wife is on
the phone again with the
parish priest, still wrapped
in a towel, insisting he
come over, as is,
and begin an exorcism she
saw on You Tube....
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