Returning from fighting
the West End Fire,
I walked in to find
My daughter and my husband
Arguing over who should be able to watch what.
Without a word, I yanked the chord
And dispatched the television out the front door.
It was mine from when I was single,
So I felt no guilt in launching it to eternity
It landed like a popping metal bowl of silverware and sand
This did not set a good example
for my daughter in terms of argument resolution.
But the final death sighs were extremely pleasing to me.
And now there is no misconception about how I feel
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'd hate to hear them arguing about music...you'd be flippin cd's out the house like ninja stars and his Homeynence might get hurt. Good stuff though. peck