An Instrument Of Torture Poem by Margaret Alice
An Instrument Of Torture
The new couch is a hateful
travesty of former happy
times, I have to fold up like
an accordion to fit my head
on you and catch a nap like
I used to do, it is an instrument
of torture; if the kids want to
join us there I have to sit up
straight and I hate that - - the
only thing to do is setting fire
to the hated couch, enjoy the
flame and buy a bigger one,
what say you…
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4/25/2024 11:32:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
