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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Pancakes Every Sunday

image source
She made him pancakes every Sunday
Eggs and bacon too
She made him meatloaf every Monday
On Tuesdays it was stew
On Wednesdays she served chicken
On Thursdays they had wine
Fridays were a day for fish
Saturdays were out to dine.
Oh, she fed him finely!
He never ate so well
After a year he left her
Saying he was bored as hell!

This poem was inspired by the style of Dorothy Parker
and submitted to the Poetry Bus

7 comments:

nene said...

Damn, there must have been a day in there she could have fed him something else? Just ask'n!

honeyhaiku said...

Ha-ha. This is funny, but bittersweet as well. Well penned!

Peter Goulding said...

Delightfully done Lolamouse and of course you're very welcome on board!
(We kind of have the same meals on a weekly basis in our house too!!)

MuseSwings said...

Bwahaha and delightful! I'll be by for dinner on Thursday --- oh sorry he did give her to boot, didn't he. I usually don't know what I'm making for dinner until about 3:00 any given afternoon when I suddenly realize a dinner is expected.

Christine said...

Ungrateful slob, perhaps he could have picked up the slack and made her supper, I like the wine on Thursdays sometimes I need that on Friday night.

Dave King said...

Well, just once in a while, sausages might have been nice!!

Bee's Blog said...

Picks myself up from the floor laughing..........