by Johnny Crimson
Abel said he needed help as he was no longer able.
The restrictions placed upon him required him to be anal.
He often called her an angel
that he could slather with bacon.
This was breakfast,
she was his bagel.
He couldn't afford cable.
His wife sat motionless in a dusty cradle.
He used to read her old fables
until one story turned out to be fatal.
He tried to apply to her face a label,
for that he used a ladle.
Out side the old Maple
stared right down to her naval.
His wife's name was Rachel,
she is no longer too stable.
Although, in this community she was quite the staple.
He stapled parts of her to the table.
In fact it was on this very card table
where he would read to her cat's cradle
as she would attempt to disable
the chaos he had enabled.
Yet any attempt to finagle
would earn her a spot on the pool table
as he performed his surgery both pre and postnatal.
In the shadow of that red maple
stands the indestructible round table.
Rachel used to use it as a tea table.
Though now she is unable
as she's a bit too unstable.
We could go in circles and call it a coffee table,
a console table, dining table, or a dressing table.
He used to undress her on each with a jumper cable.
She was a nurse in the neonatal,
her favorite tree was the norway maple.
Her other favorites included the silver and sugar maple.
She lived below a trestle table
which was well below the local water table.
She saw in a magazine a japanese maple
and tried to replicate one with coaxial and fiber optic cable.
Abel sliced her so thin on his operating table
that she's as small as the elements on the periodic table.
Posted on 10/23/2012
Copyright © 2022 Johnny Crimson
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by A. Paige White on 10/24/12 at 01:26 PM|
Dude, do you have really bad dreams? Man. This could make one helluva horror movie. The really scary part is it kind of sounds familiar to me.