That blast from that big gigantic mouth,
Those words that drive the birds down south,
Flipping the universe on its petrified butt,
Those words that fly out of her hellified gut,
That bark that sends the wild bulls reeling,
Those commands that send the giants squealing,
Those words painted red with big black holes
That steam through the night as empty souls,
That chase the sun back to the eastern skies,
That scare the dinosaurs and ground the flies,
Those retorts heard around the shaken universe,
At the time when things could not get worse,
When the brooks were in their murmuring,
All at peace before hell comes churning,
Her heavy feet snapping off the tree tops,
Ravaging the forest as the giants watch,
Her pounding the ground to cut new trails,
Lopping off trees with her big black toe nails,
Those words with big rip roaring muscles,
Melting the toughest of all the trestles,
Flying at me like a universal crash,
“Get moving, you bum, and take out the trash!”
“I’m so sorry, Wifey Shnookems Dear.
I’ll get right at it and cast out my beer.
I love you as much as I love life.
You are the sweetest, kindest,
And most precious wife.”
“I wish that witch would
Fly away on her broomstick,” thinketh he.