Treasure Island

David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

Bronwen's Birthday Poem


God, I’m glad that you were born,
That you were by your husband shorn,
Who left you sitting on the bed
Petting faithful Camilla’s head;
Who left you when’re the Fire bell rang,
Without a thought, without a pang;

How could he leave such a lovely creature,
A perfect love in every feature?
A heart that overflows with grace,
Why it’s a scandal, a disgrace!
How could he willingly depart
From that bounty called your heart?
To go and fight a neighbor’s fire
To leave those eyes filled with desire?
But he left you trundling down the stairs,
Bedecked with gear running here and there,
While a fire was burning in your soul,
His eyes were icy, his heart was cold;

While shopping in the local mart
I put a heater in our cart,
“When we shop I always think of sex,
It’s not for us, it’s for your ex.”
He lives across from the fire house,
“Lets visit” Said I to his former spouse.
We found him in his basement pad,
Cold and lost and looking sad,
“It’s a space age heater… it’s infra red! ”
We eyed the cold pipe above his bed.
“It’s a great way to keep your apartment warm.”
(I prefer his ex-wife’s form.)

Submitted: Sunday, November 10, 2013
Edited: Monday, November 11, 2013

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