The Live-in -- Part 2 of 3
She here elbowed past me stomping, pausing not (although me whomping
With her wildly swinging handbag – five kilograms, if not more).
Cackling brusquely in a lather, that I should her baggage gather,
She then made a beeline rather straight through to the bathroom door.
Bathrobe clad and I mouth gaping, a liquidesque and turgid score –
Heard I come from ‘hind said door.
Faculties mine then regaining, to the muffled sounds of straining,
Luggage lugged I by the armful ‘til it half covered the floor.
Having purged demons internal, emerged she with a stench infernal,
And disturbed wife’s rest nocturnal – sensed she had her mother’s spoor –
Thus awakened, hair disheveled, she exclaim-ed, “Oh my Lor-”
(At which point she saw Lenore).
Here, dear reader, I’ll acknowledge that I met my wife in college.
We did wed with an alacrity that left our families sore.
With them mostly, we’ve fence-mended, olive branches we’ve extended,
And with all have soreness ended, with th’exception of Lenore –
Impromptu Vegas nuptials ours ne’er pardoned she us for.
Forgiveness? She’d said, “Nevermore.”
Subsequently, every meeting, whether days in length or fleeting
Ever marred was by the vitriol that from her mouth did pour.
Our presence thus disdaining, we content were then remaining
Distant from her foul complaining – contact with her we forswore.
No truck had we had with her for nigh on twelve years, maybe more –
Hence the shock of her at door.
Standing there in hallway fuming, scent of ordure ‘round perfuming,
An entitled air assuming, my wife’s mother took the floor.
She in voice like squealy quacking, peppered with some phlegmy hacking,
Every dulcet tone it lacking, sounding like a wounded boar,
Claimed she an Ikean sofa that her ample rearguard bore –
“I’ve come to visit,” croaked Lenore.
Looked I to my wife in query (bad side hers on of being leery),
Wincing at what could be sheer emoted outrage and furore,
Said wife, “What drugs are you taking that would lead you then to making
The mistake you are mistaking in appearing at our door?
What dark, unholy, nasty, wretched reason came you for,
That you so defile our door?”
Copyright ©
Daniel Beus
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