tristan montefaust

The Philosopher's Wife - Poem by tristan montefaust

Mr. George likes to say nothing
is certain. He likes to put on airs.
When I told him, George go
back to your room and turn
your pants inside out, he said,
Darling, the outside is in
and the inside out- nothing
is certain. Think of it
what you will.

Well, then. What would happen
if I serve him his breakfast
of toasted socks
which he wore three weeks ago?
By God, forgetting it until the stink
is a visible visitor in our room.

He would ask me
Evie darling what is this?
But George can't you see
its three fried eggs
(you wore three weeks ago) ?

It must have been a strain
for dear George trying to eat socks
thinking them as eggs.
Darling are you sure? he asked. Dear,
nothing is certain. Think of it
what you will.

(The dear darling he really ate it up;
proving old socks taste good as fried eggs.)

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 8, 2006

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