All seated at the breakfast nook,
We all took turns dividing eggs, toast and ham.
Like a mashed garden of daffodils and roses our breakfast did now look –
Most unlike last night’s roast leg of lamb.

Before long, the pleasant porcine potpourri
Turned acridly sour
As disagreement broke out afresh between mommy and daddy
Afore the clock struck yet another fateful hour.

“I’m going to leave!” pounded the usual threat.
“You’re impossible – you’ve always been.” The Rock’s head tilted to the right.
The Old Bull hurled an avocado at him full-heat,
Smearing the white wall green with all her might.

The Rock retaliated with Peck’s Anchovette,
With a better aim, but no cigar.
As I reached for a serviette,
I realised that my family life is most putrid a tar.

Why didn’t you leave her sooner?
Only flying avocados will celebrate mismatched marriage hereafter.