On the day
Mrs Modfig’s husband died
she was being rogered
by a Spaniard
she’d met
in Santa Fe
staring at
the off white ceiling
with a
I’m being
well taken care of
feeling
and didn’t give
her husband
a second thought
thinking him
back home
working hard
sipping the sherry
smoking the cigar
feet up
watching TV
maybe seeing
that **** from the store
as he had before
no she was content
having this Spaniard
giving her the works
making the night
feeling young again
hoping for more sunshine
far away
from the rain
and her husband
and his moans and groans
and his occasional
rogerings
in their safe
and boring bed
and later
at the funeral
in her black hat
and dress and coat
and matching gloves
she shed
the crocodile tears
remembering
other loves.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 2:00 AM UTC
On the day
Mrs Modfig’s husband died
she was being rogered
by a Spaniard
she’d met
in Santa Fe
staring at
the off white ceiling
with a
I’m being
well taken care of
feeling
and didn’t give
her husband
a second thought
thinking him
back home
working hard
sipping the sherry
smoking the cigar
feet up
watching TV
maybe seeing
that **** from the store
as he had before
no she was content
having this Spaniard
giving her the works
making the night
feeling young again
hoping for more sunshine
far away
from the rain
and her husband
and his moans and groans
and his occasional
rogerings
in their safe
and boring bed
and later
at the funeral
in her black hat
and dress and coat
and matching gloves
she shed
the crocodile tears
remembering
other loves.
Request permission to use this poem