You Should Have Known

She looks at her with weary eyes,
Impatient with her tears,
Foreboding signs, she had been warned,
It’s been building for years.

She tried to point out the red flags,
The hurtful words he used,
The many times he told her that,
He wasn’t in the mood.

She tries to be sympathetic,
How could she not have known,
She disperses one last Kleenex,
And says it time to go.

Her patient’s lack of perception’s
Such a disappointment,
But she has some time to relax,
Before her next appointment,

And so she reaches for her tea,
When her phone lights up,
Her husband says, “Late one tonight-
Honey, don’t wait up.”

This poem was inspired by a book of the same name by Jean Hanff Korelitz.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/oh-the-irony/

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Voodoo Doll

Gina Christine you are so mean,
I know just what I’ll do,
I’m gonna get a voodoo doll,
That will look just like you.

I’ll stick some needles in it’s neck,
And some more in it’s eyes,
I’m gonna put some in it’s knees,
And some between it’s thighs.

I’ll take it out to the driveway,
Roll it around in tar,
I’m gonna leave it there to get,
Run over by a car.

And then we’ll see Gina Christine,
Just who can be so cruel,
When time comes I see you again,
Next Monday at school.

But came the weekend I did fret,
And I did shake with fear,
What would become of poor Gina,
As that Monday drew near?

Would she be walking on crutches?
Or wearing a neck brace?
Would she be sporting two black eyes?
Oh, what would be her fate?

And so that Monday came around,
And it was at that time,
I saw I needn’t have worried,
Gina was just fine!

But she was meaner than ever,
Curse my thwarted efforts,
I’ll return to the magic shop,
For a voodoo doll that works!

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The Mysterious Case of The Disappearing Drummers

Lisa Kaos was wild on stage,
But a bit of an addict I’m afraid,
We could tell you what drug she was on,
Judging by the speed of the song.

Then came reliable Dawn McGrath,
Who had a penchant for Cabbage Patch,
A bit of a prude, I’m telling you,
As a rock drummer that would not do.

Then along came Frankie, wild man,
Great for drumming and banging tin cans,
But better sent off to the forest,
Than hitting on the lead guitarist.

Tim was glam as glam could ever be,
But it all ended quickly you see,
For soon came in the call for the chap,
The 80s wanted their drummer back.

So it became like musical chairs,
Changing drummers more than underwear,
Until I’m afraid we got the rap,
For being a bit like Spinal Tap.

But not one drummer did we fire,
Too potent was our rock desire,
We put up with them ’til they turned into,
Green globules on the drum stool.

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