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His wife begged him to reconsider,
Stop and reevaluate.
Not to give in and slither
Beyond the bounds of endless hate.

It had all begun the night before
Over dinner, in debate.
The hostess, brightly asking “More?
Ladled gravy over his plate.

Had she waited for assent
She would have got a “No.”
But he was forced to smile consent;
A gentleman cannot stoop too low.

Mistaking his grimace for pleasure -
You see, no one had liked her stew -
She thought she would that moment treasure,
But he behaved unlike Me, or You.

Instead he rose as if in a trance,
His plate crashing to the floor.
His gaze piercing as a lance
He headed towards the door.

His wife rose, and followed him,
Out towards their small, grey car.
They drove back through the evening dim
In silence, though it was not far.

He said to her once they were home,
“I’m going to give them hell for this!
She knew that since my days in Nome
I’ve given second helpings a miss!”

“Instead she chooses to tempt me!
Foul woman! She chooses to incite
The indigestion that’s plagued me.
Held at bay till tonight

When she sought to stuff my face.
Had I known her evil ways
I wouldn’t’ve been the one say grace.
Now how to darken her days?”

He sought to make her pay
For the sin she did commit.
Even go so far as to say
“That woman I would like to hit!”

But his wife begged him reconsider,
Stop and reevaluate.
Not to give in and slither
Beyond the bounds of endless hate.


As someone once told me:
Don't tell your friends
About your indigestion.
'How do you do?' is a greeting,
And NOT a bloody question.

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