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  1. sjwilling's Avatar
    Reading: Anything I can get my sticky little hands on
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    Apr 2007
    Jeffersonville, Indiana, USA

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    sjwilling is offline

    Default A Littul Valentine Pome

    As written by a desperate husband....

    Oh My God! It's 6am
    and Valentine's today,
    I forgot the flowers, and the chocs,
    What will my dear wife say?

    But Hark, she sleeps, a-snoring still,
    In day's still gawkish dawn.
    I still have time before she kills
    me on this frosty morn.

    So leap I to our trusty van
    Hands and heart a twitter
    I wish that I were more a man
    but terror gives me jitters.

    Foot down, floored out,
    I drive like one possessed
    And hear a crunch, a mangled shout
    As the van did come to rest.

    "Cain't ya look just where you drive,"
    My neighbor really clamored.
    He stumbled from his ruined car
    Devoid of all his manners

    The twisted wreckages I saw and wept
    Surely naught is done in vain?
    Till down the street my eyes have swept
    And hope will rise again.

    “I’ll call you back,” I turned to run,
    My feet so swift and fleet.
    “I need Valentine presents for my Hun,
    Or my death will not be sweet.”

    Three houses down, and near to boot
    Was Sally and her son
    Where they headed was really moot
    With Valentine’s begun.

    Then, perchance, the neighbors dog
    All caught up in furor
    Got all excited at my jog
    And rocketed through his door.

    With giant leap, and boundless bound
    He jumped the picket fence
    And then proceeded, without a sound
    To chew my butt from thence.

    With flailing hands, and mawkish grin
    I fell upon my face
    Wondering on the mess I’m in
    And blamed the human race.

    “Away, away,” said Sally’s son
    For he’s a brave young soul
    To chase away the canine dun
    That tried to eat me whole

    “Come on, come on, come to the car,”
    Sally dragged me on
    “We must get to "St John’s ER,
    Before his breath is gone.”

    “But mom he’s bitten. Not half dead.”
    Sally’s son decried
    “Be quiet, oh son,” I banged my head
    As I, salvation, spied.

    Seated now, in Sally’s car,
    Head, butt and hands in tatters
    I knew at last we’d traveled far
    To the place that really matters

    Just one more turn and there we’d be
    A store I knew so well
    A florist’s called “Oh, To Be a Bee.”
    Shortly to become my Hell.

    Without a thought Sally began
    To pass right by my haven
    The terror points within me sang
    And I hadn’t even shaven

    “Turn right!” I screamed and right she did,
    Straight through the florist’s door
    With screeching brakes she slid and skid
    and threw me to the floor.

    Two broken legs, a thigh, an arm,
    Maybe a rib or two.
    I didn’t think they’d be much harm
    If I took a rose or few

    And when they came and stretchered me
    I made certain to ask and tell
    The florist I’d make sure and see
    That she’d be paid real well.

    It took an hour, or two, or ten
    For St Johns to splint me up.
    And someone called, I don’t know when
    My dearest Buttercup.

    When my beloved wife arrived
    She just shook her head in sorrow
    “You did all this, and didn’t realize
    That it’s Valentine’s, tomorrow…?”

    Last edited by sjwilling; February 14th, 2009 at 09:14 PM.
    When I was young I wanted to grow up--instead I became a Writer
    Stories, like love and laughter, are born in the soul

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