Thursday, January 22, 2009

Sonnet for Sweating the Small Stuff

Category: Issue 14

For every time her powder or her blush
Has found its dreaded way onto my collar;
For every toilet she forgot to flush,
I wish I had a dime, if not a dollar.
If only all her panties on the floor
Turned into gold each time I picked them up.
If only the bra pile by the door
Contained doubloons in each double-D cup.
She always is too busy or too sleepy;
I always have a hard time getting any.
The times she’s wishy-washy, weird, or weepy—
They really should cost her a pretty penny.
So what consoles me for not being rich?
I married my best friend and not a bitch.

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