Oh, worst of times, like constant drips—
His quarrel-monger wife,
So on the rooftop corner
He chose to live his life.
His health had been affected.
His life brimmed with despair
And just behind his cowlick,
He’d lost most of his hair.
The word acrid could best describe
Likewise, the word distressed described
His frail mentality.
Critical mass point had been reached.—
He’d salvage life and house!
His first step to accomplish this—
He’d renovate his spouse.
His perplexed thoughts upon his plight,
To ease his situation
He googled into cyberspace
To gather information.
On the keyboard, keywords typed
Were “Bitter,” “quarrelsome.”
He placed his faith, his hopes and dreams,
Then prayed for the outcome.
To his surprise, a recipe
Purported forth a cure.
An ale of odd ingredients
The listing, quite obscure.
Take two teaspoons of bitter orange,
Add one sweet lemon rind.
Blend with ascorbic acid
And sucrose – white, refined.
Add moon beams, two troy ounces.
The potion, then, should glow.
Fold in club soda, form a paste.
Apply to her left toe.
The new dilemma of his quest—
How to apply this cure?
Baptize her left extremity
And sprinkle the elixir?
So stealthily, while she reposed,
He drew near with the potion.
He held his breath, with trembling hand
He dabbed it on, like lotion.
Oh, best of times, his life now that
His mission was complete.
His wife, now so congenial,
His rose, she seemed so sweet.
Her charm and temper pleased him.
Then he saw her puzzled eye.
She scrutinized him toe to head.
He feared things went awry.
His sweet world turned to saccharine.
She schemed, her inspiration—
She googled “cowlick,” “hair-loss”
To anoint his situation.
This poem is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
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