268 • Punctured
This has to be grounds for divorce
And she’s not shown the slightest remorse.
What makes me see red
Is stilettos in bed
When they burst my inflatable horse.
I trust loyal readers can endure a brief glimpse of my dirty laundry, as outlined above. Are we looking at ‘unreasonable conduct’ here, or ‘irretrievable breakdown’? (Please don’t alert Pope Clement VII to this matter, or things might end very badly. I live in hope that present-day mores condone divorce more readily than beheading, although – thanks to Unprincipled Egomaniacs in High Places – a new Dark Age beckons incontrovertibly.)
2 thoughts on “268 • Punctured”
A Trojan horse, perhaps?
Hi Loris,
It was certainly hollow – are you suggesting there were stowaways inside it, who are possibly lurking, still undiscovered, in the folds of the bedding? This takes me back to the unfortunate affair of the cobra in the duvet, which is the topic in Rhyme #264.
Food for some indigestible thought, I think!
Rick