The Husband's Fateful Verse Poem by Robert Rorabeck

For better or for worse
He is married to a purse

Who drives a four-door hearse,
Shopping amongst the graves

And when he gets home
Sad and lonely,
She’ll start on him bemoaning,
Under roof
And over floorboard
With her nails freshly manicured:

“Oh, honey, you adore me
With all you have made all for me,
You’ve turned me into a proper whore;
But dare I ask it?
Yes. I’ll ask it:
More, More, More! ”

She tasked him, belly, breasts and buttons
All pressing to the floor.