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....