Still trying (in vain, no doubt), to make amends to A.S. King, the wonderful YA author whom I stupidly chastised in a comment on her blog, I decided to enter one of her contests. The theme of this one was: the weird stuff people put in toilets. So, I wrote a poem and posted it, and I know it won't win (and might not even be considered as an entry) because it exceeds her 100-word limit, but I had fun writing it, so I thought I'd reproduce it here for any sickies like me who might enjoy it. Here goes:
THE BALLAD OF HANNAH AND TIM
When Tim the fish went belly-up,
Hannah scooped him in a cup
And dumped him in the toilet bowl,
Without a thought for Timmy's soul.
The off she ran to hit the gym,
And never shed a tear for Tim.
But Hannah left in such a rush,
The silly slut forgot to flush!
Then Tim, who'd just been playing possum,
Let his imagination blossom.
Though just a fish, he knew that he
Deserved at least a eulogy.
She should have mourned him in some way,
But she'd done zilch, and now she'd pay.
Skip ahead an hour or three.
Hannah returned, and went to pee.
I'll spare you details - it's too gruesome -
But Tim had teeth, and like to use 'em.
Learn a lesson from poor Hannah:
Never diss your pet piranha.
She'll have to love it, right? Violence, revenge, misogyny - What's not to love? Okay, here's a question: once I find myself in a hole, why can I not resist the urge to keep digging myself in deeper and deeper? All comments, diagnoses, and/or prognoses will be welcome. Have a great day.
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