The Answer Isn’t A Chainsaw Poem by Dante Furious

Don’t try or even buy a chainsaw to remedy aching limbs
The plumes of petrol scoffing smoke should make the user wary
And to cut a troubled limb with its blades that rivets and rolls and slices
To rupture bone and allow dying blood vessels; to bleed
For bone to crush with a hot like shear
Through a wanton and morbid fascination

Only when the bone is mutilated and the limb is grotesque in sight
When all sense fails to raise its weary notion
Incredulous the limb swings on pivoted sinews
The pain doesn’t enriched the experience
But leaves the buyer in no doubt
That the chainsaw is a poor substitute for reasonable limb extirpation